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Smoking Out. Page 179. 












DONALD’S 


SCHOOL DAYS. 


BY 


GEN. O. O. HOWARD. 

(U. S. A.) 



ILLUSTRATED. 


>*> » 

. 


BOSTON: 

LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS. 

NEW YORK: 

CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM. 

1 8 7 9 • 


+-PZ 

SS£- 


Copyright, 1878, 

BY 

LEE & SHEPARD. 


All rights reserved 



v 


slsior E’ecirotype Foundry, 
Wes: Seneca, N. V . 


PREFACE. 


M Y friends are already inquiring why I publish a 
book, and why for young people! Certainly the 
work itself should answer these questions. 

One object — and writers generally will acknowledge it 
a good one — is to help discharge pecuniary obligations 
that have been thrust upon me. 

Another lies in the hope of doing some good — attempt- 
ing a portraiture of youth for the benefit of youth, as I had 
observed persons and things in our New England life — 
showing the actual training of boys, and how strong wills 
and hot tempers are brought under subjection; how the 
sapling becomes the spreading tree, full of budding 
promise, and finally of the choice fruit. 

I desire hereafter to carry the younger of the boys into 
the war and give a recital of actual campaigns and battles 
for the reading of young people, who are apt to neglect 
more formal histories. 

While I have not chosen model youths, I have striven 
not to commend improper conduct. 

It is with misgivings that I come before my young 
friends, and I shall be happy to find that there has been 
secured even a small contribution to their enjoyment or 
their welfare. 

























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CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

The Woodwards — Donald and Henry — The Thunder 
Storm — The Potato Harvest i 

CHAPTER II. 

The Accident. • g 

CHAPTER III. 

The High School 18 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Huskings — The Debating Society 31 

CHAPTER V. 

The Church — The Prayer-meeting — And the Home on . 
Sunday 41 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Common School 49 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Wood Supply — The Academy 66 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The Vacation 86 

CHAPTER IX. 

Vacation continued — Fourth of July — Bessie Hale 100 


V 


VI 


N 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER X. 

Academy Life — Second Term 113 

CHAPTER XI. 

The Classical School at Monray 131 

CHAPTER XII. 

Classical School at Monray continued — Incidents 146 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Nyoton College 157 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Speaking — Composition — Smoking ; 174 

CHAPTER XV. 

Sunday at Nyoton 181 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Sandy Hollow — Donald’s School-teaching — Boarding 
Around, etc 207 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Habits and Incidents — Manners, how Degraded in Col- 
lege 219 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Summer Term at Nyoton — Sam Yardley’s Novel — Don- 
ald’s Introduction to a Young Lady 2*31 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The Exhibition— Prize Declamation 249 

CHAPTER XX. 

The Examination — The Excursion to Rhodes — Visits to 
the Jaspers — Journey Home, via the Capital 270 


CONTENTS. vii 

CHAPTER XXI. 

The Ride to Renut — Henry Haviland Poor’s Letter — 
Donald’s Sickness 288 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Return to College — The Snows — The Lie — The Anger — 

The Explanation 302 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Conversion of Henry Woodward — Donald and Sam 
on Religion 318 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Commencement — Sam Preparing his Oration — Sky’s Origi- 
nal POEM..„ 325 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Senior Year — Henry’s Start— Donald’s Thrilling Speech 
— Commencement — Law School — Scepticism — Pro- 
fessor’s Advice 343 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Conclusion 353 












































































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DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE WOODWARDS — DONALD AND HENRY — THE 
THUNDER STORM — THE POTATO HARVEST. 

“/^OME, Henry, the basket’s full enough!” 

“All right, Donald ; go ahead, I can 
keep up.” 

In the southern part of the town of Grenville, 
where the above conversation is taking place, is a 
fine table-land, remarkable for its fertility. It was 
usually called “The Heights.” On the northern 
slope, which has a broad, panoramic view of a village, 
hills, mountains, rivers, and lakes, the traveller could 
have seen as he rode northward, at the time of this 
story, a fine, large farm at the left of the road. 
This road runs over the heights, mainly following 
their crest. The farm belongs to Mr, John Wood- 
ward. 

Descending the slope, the traveller notices a 

i 


2 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


handsome field that is under cultivation. Mr. 
Woodward breaks up and prepares for seed a por- 
tion at a time, so that he has a plat of grass, another 
of potatoes, others df different kinds of grain. At 
this time the harvest is nearly over. Mr. Woodward 
and his two sons, Donald and Henry, are near the 
northeast corner of the Tfield, in plain sight of 
passers-by. All are busily engaged finishing up the 
potato harvest. 

The father is uncovering the large, red potatoes, 
while his two little boys, aged thirteen and eight, are 
following him closely with the basket. As soon as 
the basket is filled (it holds probably half a bushel) 
they carry it, each tugging at his own side-handle, 
to the dump-cart that stands on the edge of the 
field,' with its “ tongue ” propped up, quietly waiting 
its load. 

These are externally very ordinary looking boys. 
Donald is rather slenderly built, talk for his age, 
having the Saxon blue eye, with an expression that 
comes and goes with any animating cause. His 
head is rather too large for his body. His dress is 
jacket and trousers (now jacket off), and he is bare- 
footed. Henry, five years younger, and slightly 
stouter for his shorter height than Donald, is simi- 
larly dressed. 

There is a family likeness in the two brothers ; 
rich brown hair, that usually with boys starts light 
and grows darker with increasing years till maturity, 
when it begins to silver and grow white with age. 


THE WOODWARDS. 


3 


They have noticeable eyes, large, full, and steady in 
gaze. But when you have gone beyond the exter- 
nals, our boys are quite unlike — “ Of a different turn 
of mind/' their mother, Mrs. Woodward, says, and 
different in disposition. 

The smile, which is a wonderful index of character, 
in Donald seemed even in his boyhood only half- 
formed, and impressed you with its accompani- 
ments, scrutiny and criticism*. In Henry it is a 
sweet, happy, trusting, confiding expression, that 
gives and takes human trust on short notice. 

The boys trudge along over the potato hills 
and loose vines, half carrying and half dragging 
their loaded basket, and with some difficulty raise 
it and place it on the tongue of the ox-cart. When 
Donald, who is facing west, says, with his half-smile: 

“ Henry, see the thunder clouds — a shower is 
coming up, and I am glad of it.” 

“’Why! so it is, Donald, I hear the thunder — pa’ll 
be sorry; he can’t finish the potatoes.” 

“But I am glad, Henry; I hate to work. I like 
to see the big showers come up so fast. We can go 
to the house and have a good time.” 

“What’s the good of going to, the house: you 
won’t play with me. You are always up in the gar- 
ret with the old newspapers,” says Henry, with his 
pleasant voice, a little complaining in tone. 

“I tell you, Henry, how it is: I’m studying all the 
time how I can do most with feast work. I guess 
I’m lazy , born lazy.” 


4 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“ I guess you are lazy, for when George and Lias 
come to play with us, you won’t play, but get down 
on the garret floor like 'Slothful 5 in my book, and 
stay there stretched out half the time with the old 
papers. I don't see what s in ’em ! ” 

“ Oh, Henry, you’re only eight. I’m thirteen. 
I read about General Taylor and the Mexican War. 
He’s going to be next President.” 

Mr. Woodward, looking up and resting his back a 
moment, with one hand on his hip and the other on 
his hoe, hears the distant rumbling, and sees the ris- 
ing cloud fast spreading over the clear western sky, 
and notices his chatting, idling boys at the cart. 

“Come, come, boys,” he says, “the rain will be 
upon us before you catch up with me. What are 
you doing there so long? Hurry back! 

The boys obey at once and finish their task, while 
Mr. Woodward goes for the oxen. They are already 
yoked, and after having had their fill of the nice 
field-clover, a privilege not always accorded them, 
are standing quietly chewing their cuds in the same 
field. 

Mr. Woodward hurries his load to the house and 
dumps it into the hopper (a half box with the ends 
out, placed in his cellar window), where the potatoes 
quickly roll down into the bin below. It is fine fun 
for the boys to run up the inclined plane of the 
dump-cart with their bare feet, and come down with 
the rolling potatoes clear into the hopper too small 
at the mouth to let them quite into the cellar. 


THE WOODWARDS. 


5 


They have hardly got the oxen to pasture and 
come back to the house, when the thunder shower 
bursts upon them. 

Mrs. Woodward, hearing the thunder, and know- 
ing how fast these showers come up, seeming to 
have some extraordinary power of propulsion in 
themselves, ran to shut the windows in different 
parts of the house. When she had finished and 
returned to the family-room, Mr. Woodward and 
his boys had come in. Henry exclaims with boy- 
excitement: “ Oh, ma, see the big shower! ” 

“Yes, my son, ' she answers quietly, “I think we 
shall have a heavy thunder storm.” 

“ Donald says he’s glad, ’cause he gets rid of work. 
Isn’t he lazy! and pa wanted to finish the field?” 

“ Donald is a queer boy,” his mother replies. 
“Hard work hurts him. I don’t think he feels 
well; his flesh don’t seem very good, and he has 
a pain in his chest when he cleans out the ‘linter’ 
(lean-to).” 

This apology, spoken in Donald’s presence, who 
hears, though he has a book before him, is but half 
in earnest. It reminds him of some of his numer- 
ous excuses and shifts to get rid of his tasks. Donald 
only answers by a slight scowl at Henry, and his 
peculiar half-smile to his mother, and soon, with 
both arms resting on the table in a lounging way, 
busies himself in his book. 

Mr. Woodward, having pulled off his heavy boots, 
runs his feet into a pair of thick shoes trodden 


6 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


down at the heel for slippers, lights his candle, and 
goes into the cellar with his cider pitcher* then 
returns, smacking his lips, and acting as if the 
drink he had taken down cellar was rather sharp 
and sour. He offers some to Parker, the hired man, 
who had been caught by the rain in a distant sheep 
pasture and had become pretty wet, and was now 
drying himself by the fire which he had lighted on 
the hearth. Parker makes a wry face as he quaffs 
the keen beverage, and says: “Your cider is awful 
sour, Colonel, guess it’s old.’' He relieves the un- 
pleasant taste directly by the inevitable short clay 
pipe (which he carries in his vest pocket), smoking 
and looking into the fire. 

Mr. Woodward hems and haws a little, sits down, 
stretches his feet towards the fire, puts on his spec- 
tacles, takes up the Weekly Journal, and soon is 
absorbed in the politics of the country, while Henry 
stands near his mother’s chair, watching the quickly 
moving clouds and the play of the forked lightning 
in the sky. Now a chain will dart zig-zag along the 
heavens, making for a time the dark masses bright 
with light ; now like melted iron, red and gleaming, 
let loose from the furnace, it drops suddenly from 
the clouds to the ground. After each flash there is 
a peal of thunder. 

Mrs. Woodward says: “Don’t go too near the 
window, Henry. I am not really afraid when it 
lightens so, but I cannot forget how Aunt Lucy 
Stone stepped to shut the window just as a thunder 


THE WOODWARDS. 


7 


storm broke. She raised her arms and was moving 
the sash, when she was struck and instantly killed. 
Her three children were on a feather-bed. They 
had a slight shock they never quite recovered from 
it. When either of the girls hears the thunder, she 
covers up her face and trembles with fright.*’ 

“Does the lightning often strike, ma?” asks 
Henry. 

“ Yes, it generally strikes somewhere in a big 
thunder storm. We have good lightning-rods put 
up on our house that keep it off here." 

Just then there was a fearful peal and crash 
that shook the house, and then the rain poured 
down upon the roof in torrents. All started to 
their feet. Mr. Woodward cried, “Well, that was 
sharp. ’ Mrs. Woodward thinks the barn must have 
been struck. Her lips are’slightly compressed* She 
is paler, but cooler than anybody else. With quiet 
self-possession, while the pouring and roaring con- 
tinue, she runs to another room, where she can see 
the barn and sheds, but they are not marred. Com- 
ing to the front parlor window, she soon discovers 
the cause of the shock, and reports : “ The big shade 
tree by the corner of the wall next to the road is 
shivered to atoms 1 *' There was a tall, broken stump 
left with white stripes down the sides, but the rest 
of the beautiful tree was in fragments. Such storm 
scenes were common in summer, though infrequent 
so late in the season. 

Mrs. Woodward was at this time about thirty-six 


8 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


years of age ; of good presence, with a wholesome, 
motherly look Her youngest boy Henry, repro- 
duced her full clear, Saxon blue eye and well-shaped 
head. Every afternoon of a week-day, when the 
work of the dinner was over, a brief time was given 
to the demands of her toilet. Then you would have 
noticed, for a few moments, her woman’s adorn 
ment, a profuse spray of hair, glossy, brown, and 
flowing to the waist. Very quickly it was rolled 
and flattened, and became a crown to her head, fas- 
tened by the high cresting comb. 

She was especially remarkable for two excellent 
qualities of mind and heart, forethought and self 
possession. Her aged father (one of New England s 
sturdy sons, who in his youth came from Nova 
Scotia, with a strong body, a stout heart, and an axe 
on his 'shoulder, then almost penniless, to hew his 
way to a fortune) used to remark of this daughter: 
“ Betsey is the only one of my children who will 
know how to bring up boys.” We shall, by-and-by, 
see how her father’s predictions were verified. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE ACCIDENT. 


FTER the shower is over, the setting sun 



FT shows itself for a half hour, shining through 
the orchard and upon Mr. Woodward’s white cot- 
tage, warming the atmosphere, which has been won- 
derfully cooled by the storm, and giving a freshened 
appearance, to everything without. 

Donald and Henry go through the lane to the 
pasture for the cows, that, with a few young cattle, 
are waiting with udders full for the milking. The 
boys let down the bars and drive or follow the cattle 
toward the barnyard, back of the house. 

One wild steer, what Mr. Woodward calls a “three- 
ye’r-old,” takes advantage of the situation ; jerking 
up his head and tail, he makes for the public road 
as fast as he can run, as soon as he is through the 
lane. 

“ Run, Henry, run ! ” says Donald, who is sure to 
put the running upon his brother. “ That steer 
will get away, and we shall have a long hunt for 


him ! ” 


9 


IO 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


Away goes the little boy, crossing lots to head 
off the steer;, but the animal increases his speed just 
enough to escape the lad. He pushes on down the 
road. Henry is making a stern chase at first, but 
faster and faster goes the steer, exciting himself as 
he runs. Then Henry stops and hesitates for a mo- 
ment what to do. Soon Mr. Steer slackens his gait, 
and then turns half around to look at Henry. The 
boy sits down by the side of the road, and soon the 
steer begins to feed in the tall grass by the fence. 
Then Henry creeps along behind the fence, like a 
boy coming to the goal in “ hide and seek,” before 
he is seen. Well past the steer, he springs into 
the road and confronts him. 

Seeing such a little boy between himself and free- 
dom, he lowers his head, bellows a little, and runs 
upon Henry, strikes him with his sharp horn on the 
arm, knocks him down, and steps on one of his feet, 
almost crushing it. Poor little Henry utters his 
cries hard and loud, as he gets up and tries to drag 
himself homeward. 

Donald, having secured the .more quiet cattle in 
the yard, goes to help his brother, scolding about 
him as he does so, because he let the steer escape. 
On reaching the public road he hears his brother’s 
cry, and soon sees by his motion that he is hurt. 
Now, Donald, really kind at heart, and very fond of 
his sunshiny brother, though he did often scowl at 
and scold him on small provocation, runs fast to his 
relief. Ashe appears, Henry cries out grievously: 


The Accident. Page 10. 
























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THE ACCIDENT. 


II 


“The steer has hooked me and hurt my foot 
dre’ful, Donald ; I can’t walk no more ! ” 

Donald soothes him tenderly, puts his arm around 
him, and helps him along till they come in sight of 
Parker, who is going from the house toward the 
barn for the milking. “Parker! Parker!” Donald 
calls with all his might. Parker hears, and hastens 
to them. He is a large, stout man, very quiet, 
smokes more than he talks. Henry is his favorite. 

“ Tut, tut, Hal,” (Parker always called him Hal), 
‘ 4 What’s the matter — wounded, heigh? enemy too 
much for ye 1 ” The compassion is in his voice 
rather than in the words. He folds the dear boy 
gently in his strong arms, and carries him home- 
ward. 

Father and mother, who had caught the sound of 
Henry’s ill-suppressed sobs and cries as they neared 
the house, rush to the south doorway to meet 
them. Mother first in the narrow hall, and father 
looking over her shoulder. “ What, Henry HURT ! ” 
both exclaim. 

“ O mamie, the steer — he hooked me and hurt my 
foot. It is all jam’d up ! ” 

“ My dear, dear little boy,” the mother cries. 
“ How could they send you after that wild crea- 
ture ! ” The boys used to say, when older, it was al- 
most worth while to be hurt or sick to find out 
mother's real heart ; for she seldom at other times 
used expressions of tenderness to her children, not 
after they had passed the days of babyhood. 


2 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


She is now paler than usual, very anxious, but never 
for a moment loses presence of mind. She takes 
him gently from Parker, assumes immediate com- 
mand of all, puts him on the bed in the north room, 
and soon has the wound in his arm bound up and 
his crushed foot bathed and covered with cool 
linen, while Mr. Woodward, tender-hearted man as 
he was, at first hung around his boy, almost stunned 
by the shock, and having but little ready wit or 
wisdom for such occasions, says: “ What can / do, 
mat ” 

“Go for Dr. Lindman as quick as you can; I’m 
afraid some bones are broken.” 

A cheerful blaze is quickly started- by Donald in 
the fireplace lighting up a pleasant room. The 
main door opens on the south side, near the south- 
west corner, into a front hall. There are two win- 
dows looking west ; a table behind them, with s, 
shiny oilcloth-cover, under a middling-sized mirror. 
The bureau, an unfailing appendage to the New 
England spare room, was opposite the door; on it a 
small case with a few of the books that come by 
presents as keepsakes — not always very well se- 
lected, except the binding. There is another win- 
dow behind the bureau, near the head of the bed. 
Greenish paper curtains are in the windows, half 
rolled up the white pillows and sheets are in pleas- 
ant contrast with the variegated diamond-figured 
quilt The ingrain carpet gives an air ot comfort. 
Over the fire-trame is the full mantel-piece. Here 


THE ACCIDENT. 


T ^ 

* 3 

already are the camphor-bottle and phials of such 
soothing preparations as are in the house ready for 
use. 

Donald soon sits down in the high-back chair, 
anxiously looking at his brother, while he still cries 
out with pain. 

“ Oh dear, oh dear, ma, my foot aches so ! ” 

“ I know it, my son,” she says, with quiet sympa- 
thy in every tone. “ I know it ; you must be a 
brave boy, and bear it. Father has gone for the 
doctor. He will soon be here. The doctor will put 
the bones in place, then God will make you well.” 

The gray mare was already harnessed by the 
thoughtful Parker before Mr. Woodward had reached 
the carriage-house. He is immediately on his way; 
he has to go five miles — the old mare always could 
take the down grade with almost lightning speed, 
but it required an unusual amount of coaxing, jerk- 
ing, and many a repetition of Farmer Woodward’s 
kind blo.ws and “ get ups” to make the old 
mare go out of a walk on the up grades, however 
slight. Donald could generally beat his father in 
making her go. The secret was in the sharpness of 
the cuts of his whip, and in selecting the tender and 
sensitive parts, which he was sure to hit. But now 
that Farmer Woodward was really in earnest, it took 
only a little more than an hour before he rode into 
his own door-yard, followed by Dr. Lindman. It 
does a household good just to see Dr. Lindman. He 
is in good flesh, always in good spirits, perfectly con- 


Donald’s school days. 


14 

fident in his ways. The shadow of perplexity never 
crosses his handsome, unwrinkled brow. He will 
turn the patient’s attention by a word or a story at 
his will. “Well, well, Hal; going to be a soldier, 
are you? — got shot the first engagement ?” 

Then low and quick he says, “ A basin of water — 
a narrow strip of cotton, Mrs. Woodward — a piece 
of pine about two inches wide and a foot long, 
Donald ; this arm is broken.” 

Everything is brought quickly — the arm is care- 
fully set. No ether or chloroform’have come in vogue 
yet, producing that soothing sleep which avoids all the 
pain, worry, and discomfort attending the setting and 
splinting of a broken limb. Henry cried out sharply 
as the Doctor hurt him. 

“Tut, tut, little man; a soldier must have forti- 
tude as well as courage.” 

It was soon over. The foot was not so bad as at 
first supposed. One or two little bones had been 
displaced. The Doctor slipped them back into po- 
sition. After all this work was done, Henry was 
given an anodyne, and soon fell into a gentle sleep, 
looking very pale indeed, but Dr. Lindman said 
there was no real danger, if he was carefully nursed 
and kept quiet for a few weeks. He tells some 
harmless gossip that makes all the family smile, puts 
on his overcoat, and takes his departure, ^descending 
the hill at a trot, in his curious sulky. 

What a blessing is such a family physician 1 The 
bill of such a doctor is the cheapest the good man 


THE ACCIDENT. 


15 


of the household has to pay. He brings a blessing 
with him, and scatters seeds of kindness that are 
sure to live. He does as much to restore health by 
his reassuring manner as by his real skill. 

At first Henry couldn’t bear to have his mother 
out of his sight. Betsy Manning, a neighbor’s 
daughter, kindly comes in to take Mrs. Woodward’s 
usual place in the household, and she gives a 
mother’s watching care to her wounded boy. At times 
he is very fretful and exacting. He would call and 
call, “ Ma, MA, MA ! ” if she was detained ever so little, 
making preparations for his food and the like. She 
would hasten back and say, without irritation, with 
loving eyes and voice : 

“What is it, Henry, what do you want, my son?” 

He sometimes would insist: “You don’t love 
me, no use to tell me so. You wouldn’t go away 
and leave me alone if you did.” By night and by 
day he had only tender sympathy and unremitting 
care from his mother. Every morning before going 
to work his good father would stand in the doorway, 
and say, in his own strong voice : 

“ Well, how’s the boy? When are you coming 
to help us pick the apples? ” 

“Guess I shan’t have to pick ’em, pa. You 
and Donald and Parker can pick ’em, and I’ll eat 
’em.” 

“All right, Henry, glad o’That. You must hurry 
up and get well before snows flies, or you’ll lose 
your schooling.” 


1 6 DONALDS SCHOOL DAYS. 

This event made quite an impression on Donald 
for a time ; he was much more diligent in his work, 
helping his father and mother' and the strong love 
and sympathy that were in his heart were drawn 
out toward his suffering brother. He felt as though 
it was partly his fault that Henry had been hurt, 
always putting, as he did, the active part of the work 
upon so little a boy. Donald would steal into the 
sick-room every favorable opportunity, and sit 
down in the high-back chair and amuse his brother, 
by telling him some droll story, or by picturing to 
him his boy plans for the future; for Donald was 
already full of them. His newspaper reading had 
carried him beyond boys of his age out into men’s 
matters, and he was always projecting the ways and 
methods of raising himself and reaching beyond 
the country life around him, beyond the farmer’s 
ambition. There was some bright sphere that he 
hoped to attain, if he only could get there, and 
shine without too much physical exertion. The 
mother discovered these leanings, as she caught 
snatches of the boy’s discussions, like the fol- 
lowing : 

“ I tell you how it is, Henry ; I don’t mean to work 
on a farm.” * 

“ I think you’re real lazy, Donald ; you’ll have to 
work on a farm.” 

“No, not when I’m a man. I mean to make 
speeches, like that great orator, Mr. Duren, I heard 
at the mills; they say he can beat Daniel Webster. 


THE ACCIDENT. 1 7 

How the people did clap their hands and cheer him. 
I shouted as loud as anybody.’* 

“ Let’s he^- you make a speech, Donald.” 

No. sooner said than done — Donald steps to the 
hearth and faces Henry, and imitates the voice and 
manner of Mr. Duren, and declares, that nothing 
will save this country but a change of rulers ; the 
wicked ones must be hurled from their places, and 
new ones of the right sort must be put in,” etc, etc. 

Mrs. Woodward, overhearing this from an adjoin- 
ing bedroom, begins to think that it would be wise 
to send Donald to school, that is, away from home 
to some private school. Mothers are quick to read 
the proclivities of their children, and this mother 
had great ambition for her boys. She had never 
meant that her husband should be a hard-working 
farmer, but circumstances beyond their control had 
tied them down — herself and husband — to the farm ; 
so that if Donald wanted another career he was sure 
to have a strong coadjutor in his mother. 

Henry now grew rapidly better, owing to his 
youth and the recuperative power of his good con- 
stitution. His bones knitted well, and little by little 
he gained his strength. By the time the apples were 
being picked, he was able to look on at the work, 
and, as he promised his father, he did “help eat 
em.” His cheeks began to brighten again, and 
father and mother felt that he had recovered com- 
pletely by the middle of August. 


0 


CHAPTER III. 

THE HIGH SCHOOL. 

M R. and Mrs. Woodward, who always retired 
early, had had many a confidential talk con- 
$erning Donald. They determined he should go to 
Weaverton, where a student from Waterville College* 
by the name of James Hillman, was teaching a 
“ High School.” He was staying out of College 
during the fall term of his senior year, with the hope 
of earning the means to defray his college expenses 
on graduation. 

The High School was a “pay school,” the tuition 
being fixed at three dollars for a term of ten weeks, 
and board could be obtained from seventy-five cents 
to one dollar per week in Mr. Weaver’s excellent fam- 
ily. (Mr. Weaver was the principal merchant of the 
village). 

Mrs. Woodward said that she could take that new 
roll of gray cloth just come home from the mill, 
have Mary Given, the tailoress, come in, and in a 
week’s time make Donald a respectable suit, if pa 
would only buy him a new cap and a pair of shoes. 
18 


THE HIGH SCHOOL. 


19 


Thus the mother talked and planned, and answered 
Mr. Woodward’s financial queries The apples could 
be dried and sold. This year s wool, from a hundred 
sheep, had not been disposed of yet, except the 
little worked up at the mill into rolls for family 
spinning and weaving. When a mother has a will, 
there is almost sure to be a way. 

That week in September, 1848 , was a busy one at 
the farm-house- Betsey Manning is on hand again 
to do the housework, so that Mrs. Woodward and 
Mary Given have the front room to themselves with 
little interruption, except when Donald, with glowing 
eyes, takes in the situation ; for he has been apprised 
of his expected good fortune. He chafes Henry a 
little, he £an’t well help it, forThe hectoring is in 
him. 

“ Henry, you’re only eight ! Don’t you wish you’s 
thirteen? Just think of it — new clothes, and go away 
to a High School! What 11 you do without me? 
You must take a stick, next time you run after that 
steer.” 

I don’t care, Donald, I’ll have the best time. 
I ll be at the ‘ pearing-bees/ the huskings, and, by- 
and-by, I’ll have a pair of skates, and a sled. Pa 
says he’ll buy me a good pair. Parker’ll make me a 
sled, he says, when the fall work’s done. You won't 
be home when the pigs are killed, and Thanksgiving- 
day, Oh, Donald, 1 11 beat you ! ” 

Here we see the boy’s philosophy. It did pull at 
Henry s heart-strings, to have Donald go off to 


20 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS 


school and leave him at home, but he rakes up all 
the nice anticipations he can think of for consola- 
tion, and doubtless in his brother's advancement he 
gets some faint glimmer of his own future. 

Mary Given uses the immense shears: the needles 
fly ; the press-board is pushed under the seams, as 
they grow, and the curious “ iron goose ” makes the 
sprinkling sizzle, as it traverses, and presses, and 
flattens the selvage. How it thrills Donald with 
joy, as she calls to him, in her strong, cheery way: 

“Come, Don, try on your waistcoat.” ‘ Ain’t that 
a nice fit?*” “ They 11 think you’re getting proud, 
Don, over to Weaverton.’ “That’ll do this time. 
Wish / was a boy in your place, don’t I?” 

Mary Given is between forty and fifty; nobody 
knows why she never married. She is always cheer- 
ful and contented ; loves to work ; carries sunshine 
wherever she goes; has a quick and happy repartee 
to all Mr. Woodward’s jokes about “ old maids,” and 
never for a moment gets ruffled. What would the 
families in Grenville do without Mary Given! 

The work is accomplished by Saturday night, and 
Donald has the opportunity, like David of old, to 
prove his gray suit before he leaves Grenville, by 
wearing it to meeting the next day. This Sunday 
was a new day to Donald, dressed up in new clothes, 
and full of the brightest anticipations. The air 
seemed softer than usual, the sun brighter the 
natural pictures more beautiful and attractive to 
him, as he rode the three miles to the meeting-house 


THE HIGH SCHOOL. 


21 


between his father and mother in the old wagon, 
and behind the wilful gray mare, whom, to Donald’s 
satisfaction, nothing could pass on the level or 
“down hill.” 

Arriving at the church, the horse is put into the 
long shed and well tied by Donald. He steps proudly 
to the pew door, and is let in by his father and sits 
apparently attentive to the service; but the Wea- 
verton school is too much for him, so that the minis- 
ter’s precepts do not to-day fasten themselves in his 
mind, except once when he speaks of a boy going 
away from home and falling into bad ways. Donald 
thinks that can never apply to him. He feels grand 
when he sits in the class during the Sunday-school, 
at the intermission, with boys of his own age. They 
begin to understand the new clothes and the bright- 
ened face of Donald, for he has told them of his 
good fortune. His teacher has found it out also, 
and as he recites to him his verses in the Bible, his 
teacher says : 

“You must be a true, good boy, Donald, while 
you re away from home. Boys are tempted to do 
wrong at these High Schools very often ; you must 
4 fear God and keep his commandments.’ '* 

The solemn tone, as well as the words, of his 
teacher impress him, and the tears fill his eyes, and 
it does not appear to Donald’s young, inexperienced 
heart that he will ever break one of God’s com- 
mandments. 

The next morning the family is up by the first 


22 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


peep of day. Father calls at the foot of the stair- 
way, “Donald!” He does not have time to say: 
“It’s time to get up; breakfast is ’most ready,” as 
almost every day before. 

He responds quickly: “All right, pa. I’m 
awake,” and with quick, nervous motions he arrays 
himself in his new attire. He cannot help waking 
Henry, to share his talk, if not his joy. The break- 
fast is over, the old mare is harnessed by the quiet 
Parker (who has suggested to Donald to “send for 
him when he gets into scrapes.”) Father has got 
his overcoat and hat on, and his long whip in hand, 
and as he starts for the wagon says to his wife : 

“ Come, ma’am ; fix him off ; don’t stop to tell too 
long stories.” 

She says, with a swelling heart, hope and fear 
contending : 

“ Now, Donald, be a good boy, write to your 
mother every week.” 

“ I will, mother; you needn’t fear me,” is the boy’s 
cheerful, hearty response. 

She gives him a fervent kiss, those mothers’ 
kisses, what meaning ! how they last ! and then he 
springs up beside his father, already in place, who 
starts the mare at once. It is always a relief to Mr. 
Woodward to get away from feeling to business 
as soon as possible. 

It is a clear, cold morning in September, the sun 
is out, and the roads are good. It would be an en- 
joyable ride for anybody; but for Donaid, in his 


THE HIGH SCHOOL. 


23 


present mood, nothing could be brighter. Over the 
sunny hills, past the pastures and woodlands; 
through the valleys, near the saw and shingle mill ; 
past many a well-to-do farm-house; through the 
small settlement of “The Corners;” along be- 
side the Podham Lake, with its capes, islands, 
and smooth water ; over the long, narrow coun- 
ty-bridge, built across the Podham River, which 
feeds the lake; then through a beautiful farm- 
ing country, having plenty of nice houses, 
big barns, and fat cattle ; .Donald and his father 
sped along behind the gray mare, who herself felt 
the spur of the sharp morning air, put her neck 
straight out, and shook up and out her long, thick, 
silvery mane, like a spirited child running a race with 
loosened hair. 

Donald took it all in ; bright hopes in youth or 
age varnish everything into its best. He saw no 
blur nor blot, nor found any fault in the eight-mile 
ride from his home to Weaverton. His father who. 
father-like, passed quickly enough from Donald’s 
poetry to the prose of life, asks : 

0 How much money have you, Donald, in your 
purse? ” 

“Two dollars, sir.” He takes out the purse his 
mother made him, having a wide mouth, shallow 
pocket, and adorned by a fringe of beads, and opens 
it, to count his silver. “Oh, here's a five-dollar 
bill mother must have put it in after I went to 
bed ’ 


24 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“Well, I guess she did, Donald; it’s just like 
her. Take care of your money. Don t spend it for 
candy or nonsense, and keep an account of every 
cent you have to spend in a little blank-book 
that I will get you at Weaverton. It's good for 
boys to learn to be careful. I shall look over your 
book when you get home. You’ll be gone about 
two months. There are some bad ones at Weaver- 
ton; old Smith keeps a groggery — don’t ever hang 
around there ; it’s good for boys, and men, too, to 
keep out of bad company.” 

Donald promises quickly at every injunction of his 
father, and believes there will not be a better boy 
than he at the High School. 

They soon enter the little village, one street along 
the eastern shore of the lake; houses for living 
mostly on the upper side, with pleasant front 
yards; also, about the middle, one good-sized tavern 
with its swinging sign. Stores and shops are, on 
the other side, backed up by a set of mills, nearer 
the lake, built along the rapid brook which crosses 
the. main street at right angles. To Weaverton the 
farmers and graziers come with their grist to grind, 
their wool to card, and their webs to full. 

The church, sacred even in situation, on the upper 
side, is a little separate from the main town, and is 
plain, solemn, and lofty in Donald’s eye, as he con- 
trasts it with the Grenville meeting-house. The 
High School is at the village school-house, at the 
opposite end of the town from the church — a one- 


THE HIGH SCHOOL. 


25 


story building, big enough to hold sixty scholars. 
All these things Donald observes, or draws out by 
plying his father with questions during the last half- 
mile, as they trot slowly into the village. Mr. 
Weaver’s two-story, steep-roofed house, with a large 
yard in front, is next north of the tavern. Mr. 
Woodward hitches his horse at his store, opposite, 
and finding Mr. Weaver there at the store, soon 
introduces Donald and his business. 

‘ You’re late in the term, Mr. Woodward, but young 
Hillman, the teacher, is a kind, ’commodating fellow 
— guess he’ll let him in,’' taking a good side-look 
at Donald. 

All essential arrangements being settled, the three 
proceed to see Mrs. Weaver. She meets them at 
the door. Donald thinks he never saw a sweeter 
lady. She is young, has one little boy, who is sit- 
ting on the floor, taking baby peeps at his papa and 
the strangers. The child cannot walk yet , is re- 
markable — would be even at a baby-show — for his 
large, sparkling eyes. Donald is soon acquainted 
with the ' full-eyed Willie. He takes to Donald 
at once, and Mrs Weaver is satisfied and glad to 
give him room and board for one dollar per week. 
She has two other boarders, young men fitting for 
college Donald will have a little room by himself, 
over the hall next to the street. What could be 
better? He helps his father bring the trunk 
that his mother had carefully packed with his 
limited wardrobe, not forgetting the Bible, up to 


26 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


his little room, and then to unstrap, unlock, and 
open it, ready for use. Just a trifle of homesick- 
ness comes from the open trunk, and its reminders 
of mother and home. He chokes a little, and a few 
tears glisten and fill his eyes, as he bids his father 
good-bye. 

“Never mind, Donald, we’ll soon be over. Take 
good care of your clothes, save your money and do 
as you know we want you to at home Term only 
two months. Mother’ll come over and see you now 
and then. Good-bye, Donald.” 

“Good-bye, pa, come soon,” he stammers out, 
through the unbidden choking. His father takes 
the reins, and the gray mare starts homeward at her 
brisk pace. For some time Donald stands still and 
watches him into the distance. 

Donald is soon used to the new situation. The 
teacher, young himself and sanguine, likes the am 
bitious lad, and readily puts him into a class of his 
equals. Donald, never priding himself much in his. 
physical strength, avoids the wrestling, that is, avoids 
participating in it himself. He looks on and sees 
the skill with which Henry Maisdell, small in stature 
and of slender build, throws the tall Amos Wendell 
who is twice as strong as Henry. At the back 
hug,” Wendell can “floor" any boy at the school 
but this is not enough, he is good-naturedly ambi 
tious to throw Maisdell at the game of skill Donald 
not excelling at “ round ball,’ always likes when 
this play is going on to sit by the fence and tally. 


THE HIGH SCHOOL. 


27 


as the runner comes in at the “home goal.” He 
prefers this to either pitching or batting, or catching 
the ball 

But there are things in which Donald finds he can 
excel One is speaking on Fridays, and taking a 
part at the Debating Society, ' and the other is in 
winning the good will of a favorite young girl, named 
Jeannie Mark. She belonged to Donald s class in 
several studies. She was thought beautiful, fifteen 
years old; a boy at thirteen is sure to look at some 
queenly girl two or three years his senior. She had 
abundant brown hair and bright, blue eyes ; straight 
as an arrow, slender and graceful; she was too full 
of fun to study much ; mistakes that would mortify 
a boy made her more interesting to the lads, and 
there was not a little rivalry for the place by her 
side as they walked homeward after school. 

Donald, with a little heightening color, managed 
here wonderful for him, to stand the laugh of the 
boys 

“Say, Don, when's the wedding to be?” 

*• Haven't fixed the day yet,” says Donald, good- 
naturedly. “ Do you want an invite?” He was often 
mated with Jeannie, while her older sister, with the 
teacher for companion, was too glad to chaperon 
her. They four took long walks by the lake-shore 
at twilight, and had trips to the neighboring groves 
during Saturdays. And often Sundays Donald 
would manage, or Jeannie would manage, that they 
should have a talk together. 


28 


DONALD S SCHOOL DAYS 


Before the term was half over when Donald s 
heart (mere boy as he was) was really fascinated, his 
mother paid her promised visit. She felt that a 
change in Donald’s manner had taken place, and 
feared he was getting too much weaned from home. 
Mrs. Weaver let her into the secret. 

“Yes, Mrs. Woodward, Donald is a good boy. 
Willie crows when he sees him coming; he likes to 
take the mug of milk from Don, and look at him 
over his mug with his big, laughing eyes as he drinks. 
The teacher says ‘he gets his lessons pretty well and 
declaims well,’ but, young as he is, he is a little 
queer toward Jeannie Mark. If he was a little 
older, I’d say he was in love.” 

“ I hope not, Mrs. Weaver: who’s Jeannie Mark?’' 
a mother’s first question at this juncture of life. 

“ She’s a pretty girl, a little giddy, a little shallow, 
fond of attention, two years older than Donald, in 
his class at school. The teacher is sweet upon her 
sister Mary, who is somewhat older.” 

Donald’s mother gave him a faithful warning. 
“ My son, you haven’t been brought up with girls, 
you musn’t be made silly with the first pretty face, 
you are too young to think of such a thing; Jeannie 
Mark is much older than you, and you'll be disap- 
pointed about her, I am sure.” 

Donald protested warmly against such talk. “You 
don’t know Jeannie, mother. It makes me better 
just to look in her face. I can wait and work for 
such a true girl.” 


THE HIGH SCHOOL. 


29 • 

“ Yes, yes my son, I know, but she will not wait 
for you, I know.” 

The mother said it gently, for she perceived that 
opposition might make matters* worse, and she 
thought, “ Boys and girls do get over these early 
freaks, somehow.” 

Two weeks from this time a dancing party came 
off. All the girls of the village were there, dressed 
in their best. Jeannie and Mary never had looked 
so sweet and pretty. Jeannie at the dance was just 
in her element. Here she made no mistakes; she 
was the favorite of the best dancers. Donald was on 
hand, but he was awkward at the cotillon and 
couldn’t waltz a step. Jeannie blushed for him, 
and was ashamed at his ignorance of so important 
an accomplishment. She plainly avoided him after 
her first dance with so ungainly a partner, and took 
up with the skilful and graceful Henry Maisdell, and 
delighted to be twirled around the room in the arms 
of the tall and athletic Wendell. 

Donald saw Jeannie home that night, but she was 
cool toward him, and he was mortified. 

“You didn’t treat me well, Jeannie, to-night,” he 
stammered at her gate, as she passed in. 

“ I don’t think anybody could. I thought you 
were smarter, Donald,” she said tartly. 

Donald tried again, saying, of course, the worst 
thing: 

“Jeannie, how could you flirt so with that big 
Wendell ; they say he isn’t good.” 


30 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“He is good/' she answers; “and you are an 
awkward and jealous boy, and I don't like you.” 
With this she darts into the house. 

Bitterly, bitterly disappointed, with a sore, morti- 
fied heart, poor Donald seeks his chamber. He goes 
over and over the whole thing. It is a bitter con- 
clusion. Mother is older and wiser than I. She 
was right. Jeannie will never wait for me; she 
does not really care for me. She loves dancing bet- 
ter than books, and she will always love good dan- 
cers better than such a man as I mean to be. Calm 
and pale, in the morning Donald was a new boy ; Ke 
had had his first experience in this kind of chagrin, 
and well for him that the disappointment came so 
early in life, when the scars, though not soon hidden, 
may be so outgrown as not to mar the beauty and 
richness of subsequent years. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE HUSKINGS— THE DEBATING SOCIETY. 

J EANNIE did care something for Donald, but 
she thought a great deal more concerning her- 
self and her pleasures, and thought it a good time 
to break with one who couldn t flirt and enjoy life, 
without becoming serious Therefore she averted 
her look or treated him with indifference when he 
gave her the opportunity which he did not many 
times do He was prouder than she. He now 
studied more, read the newspapers more, and was 
more ready to go with the rougher youths of the 
school in their boy-frolics than before. 

A farmer William Jones living five miles from 
Weaverton sent an invitation to the boys of the 
school, and other youths of the town, to attend his 
*• husking/ It is what people call in some parts 
of the country r a shucking,’ or ‘‘corn shucking.” 

Friday evening was selected, so that the being 
out late would not interfere with the school time 
Saturday being the holiday. The largest wagon 
in town was secured by Tom Carver, the man who 

3i 


32 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


had charge of the tavern stables and four horses at- 
tached. Tom. a square-built stout fellow, who had 
at one time driven the stage from Wan'nock to 
Weaverton, was just the man for the occasion 
Wendell, Maisdell. Mr Hillman, the teacher and as 
many others as the wagon would hold with three 
on a seat, and three with legs dangling out behind, 
made up the party. Donald, with Maisdell, being 
the smallest, got upon the high seat with the 
driver. Tom Carver gracefully draws up his four 
reins, places them properly arranged in one hand, 
and takes his long whip in the other; and gayly, 
with shouts and songs, the party leave the village 
about an hour before sundown. 

“ This is gay, Donald,” says Tom ; “ it beats your 
old gray mare, though she is a trump for speed, 
when she takes the notion.” 

4 I guess the mare could beat you on a long pull, 
Tom. How can you keep so many reins in one 
hand, and hold these horses? it’s as much as I can 
do to hold the mare, going down hill.” 

“ Part science, part strength, part breaking o’ 
horses, and the rest clear pluck,” says Tom, proudly. 
Then he goes On to tell Donald his feats in horseman- 
ship, driving as many as six horses on one great 
occasion. That time, he declared, he had a sort of 
.previous understanding with the leaders, and they'd 
obey the beck of his whip, or the turn of his little 
finger. 

With such a jolly party, the road, though rough 


THE HUSKINGS. 


33 


and hilly, did not appear long, as may be imagined. 
They were tumbling out of the wagon by early 
candle-light, and joining the neighbors; all males, 
men and boys, at this husking, except the farmer’s 
wife, two daughters, and a couple of neighbor’s 
girls, who had come to fix up the feast which was 
to close the evening. 

Farmer Jones had a large barn, and had piled 
his unhusked corn in a long, high winrow on the 
main floor. The corn-heap was dimly lighted up 
with a few lanterns, and there seemed at first quite 
an air of gloom to Donald in this lighting, which 
Tom Carver said “made darkness visible.” But all 
arranged themselves on one side of the corn-row, and 
soon the clean ears began to fly in a lively manner 
to the other side. 

“Everybody must tell a story or sing a song; 
that’s the rule,” shouts Tom. 

And so they do, ranging in their tales and songs 
over sea and land, through memory and imagina- 
tion, for material, and each doing, as Carver had 
prescribed, “their level best.” Toward *the last, 
they apportion the unhusked corn, and then, boy- 
like, “ race ’ for the end. The one who gets 
through his heap first is to have the first sandwich 
and cup of coffee. Donald tried hard, but Wendell, 
with his strong muscles and well-trained hands, suc- 
ceeded in this feat. Then he helped the man who 
had still the biggest pile. 

By eleven o clock the work was all done, and the 


34 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


party repaired to the house. Wendell was now, of 
course, the hero of this entertainment. With eating 
and drinking and many jokes the next hour quickly 
went by: so that it was fully midnight when all were 
mounted into place in the wagon for the return. 

It was bright moonlight, and not very cold. They 
had proceeded but a short distance when Tom Carver 
said he knew an orchard in which there \^ere some 
late grapes now ripe. Maisdell and Wendell, always 
ready for “ a time,” say : “ Let us go and get some ; 
let us go.” 

The teacher, young himself, and not averse to fun. 
said nothing. Donald had some compunctions of 
conscience, and, recalling his mother’s and Sunday- 
school teachers advice, quietly inquired; 

‘‘Whose orchard is it? whose grapes?” 

“ Oh, they are Mr. Black’s. He s a generous old 
fellow, and wouldn’t mind our having some, and if he 
would, grapes don’t grow everywhere in this 
country !” 

Donald went with the rest, very timidly, it must 
be confessed, fearing lest by some chance the party 
might be discovered, and what he was doing come to 
the knowledge of his father and mother. They turn 
a little aside from the main road, and stop at Mr. 
Black’s gate, one holds the horses and the rest 
quietly proceed to the orchard, scatter among the 
trees which have the grape-vines running over them 
and are soon busy in eating or tying up the bunches 
in their handkerchiefs, when Mr Black himself, 


THE HUSKINGS. 


35 


having joined the party without being noticed, 
flashed his hitherto concealed lantern into Tom 
Carver’s face., and says: “Keep quiet, Tom; I 
know you.” 

Tom is a little disconcerted at being caught, but 
not meaning to be alone, helps Mr. Black, by intro- 
ducing some of his companions. Donald feels bad 
enough, as Mr. Black glances at his pale face ; then 
looks at him steadily and says; 

‘ Is it possible this is the son of Mr. Woodward, of 
Grenville? I know his father very well. I didn’t 
think his son would steal my grapes.” 

The most of the party went home crest-fallen 
enough, but after they reached the village, three or 
four of the number, under the influence of some 
drink which Tom had furnished, thought they would 
complete their pranks by turning Mr. Weaver’s 
store-sign bottom-side up, and moving a small un- 
sightly out-building from the rear to the front of old 
Smith’s liquor-store. 

Donald crept to his little room as soon as he left 
the wagon, really sad at heart. All the pleasurable 
excitement of the evening was now over, and with 
his troubled conscience awake, he could hardly get 
to sleep at all. Toward morning he did so, however, 
only to have an unpleasant dream, in which he ap- 
peared at court as a thief, and his father and mother 
and Henry were there, with sorrowful, woe-begone 
faces. In tears he promised the Judge that, as it 
was his first offence, it should be his last, and begged 


36 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


him not to send him to jail. The Judge was pro- 
nouncing his name, when he awoke to hear Mr 
Weaver calling him : “ Donald ! ” 

‘‘Donald, breakfast in five minutes 1 ” 

Donald springs up, glad to find he is only dream- 
ing, and dresses with nervous quickness. As he 
tomes into the breakfast-room, Mrs. Weaver looks 
at him archly, and says: 

“Well, young man, you and the master have got 
yourselves into a pretty pickle.” 

Donald is startled more than a little, but is per- 
fectly dismayed when Mr. Weaver adds: 

“ It was not very kind of you, Donald, to upset my 
sign, and play that mean trick on old Uncle Smith. 

Donald stammered a denial of these added charges, 
but perceived, by the tone the talk took, that the 
conduct of the husking party on their way back 
was a matter of gossip all through the village. 
When he got to his room, in his shame and perplex- 
ity, he used some bitter, profane words, as he tramped 
up and down his room, and in this way, adding 
sin to sin, only made his^cup of trouble harder to 
swallow. Mr. Black was a good-natured man, and 
when he came to town, Mrs. Weaver, who really 
loved Donald very much, and enjoyed his generous 
ways with little Willie, entreated him to go and ask 
his Mr. Black’s forgiveness. This he did in a 
straightforward, mrnly way. Mr. Black said: 

“ I am glad, Donald, you see you were wrong. You 
must keep out of bad company. Your father’s a 


THE DEBATING SOCIETY. 


37 


square man; he wouldn’t stand much nonsense. 
I’m not going to take notice of this folly. The 
boys ought to’ve asked me for the grapes ; I was 
at the husking; I’m not stingy. Ask next time, 
Donald.’ 

“ Oh, yes, sir; I shall never do such a thing again.” 

The affair gradually faded away, as other topics 
came up for village gossip; but it hurt the teacher 
in that staid religious community, and Donald did 
not get over the shame, and the fear that his friends 
at home might hear the scandalous story before he 
should see them, so that Mr. Hillman and Donald 
were both glad enough when they entered upon the 
last week of the term. Before finishing the week, 
a little freshness was given to Donald’s sore heart, 
still smarting somewhat from Jeannie Mark’s slight 
and desertion, and possibly more from having broken 
his promises to his dear friends in Grenville, and, as 
he thought, forfeited the confidence of his new 
friends at Weaverton. 

“ The Debating Society ” had its final exhibition 
on Wednesday evening; the people of the village, 
taking a lively interest in the debate, turned out 
pretty generally, and filled the school-house. There 
were four persons regularly appointed to open the 
question, two on a side Mr. Ingram, the minister, 
and Donald on one side; Mr. Hillman, the teacher, 
and the village lawyer, Mr. Straight, on the other. 

The question for discussion was in the shape of a 
resolution: “ Resolved, That the election of General 


38 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


Zachary Taylor to the Presidential chair will be the 
consummation, of a desirable object,’ Mr. Ingram, 
taking the affirmative, made a fine fifteen-minutes 
speech, showing the political condition of the coun- 
try.: “After a war brought on by the present rulers, 
and the corruptions that have followed in the 
administration of public affairs, how essential a 
change! ” “General Taylor was a good soldier and 
a staunch patriot, and nothing gave a brighter pros- 
pect of a radical change than for the Whigs to 
come in, with him as their standard-bearer.” With 
such arguments, delivered in a sonorous voice and 
pleasant manner, the audience was quite satisfied, 
though the most were Democrats. But the tables 
were turned when Mr. Hillman brought in his clear 
and pointed answers: “ General Taylor was a creature 
of the Administration. The Mexican War was 
just and a necessity, and the Democrats should be 
sustained ; not in putting in a man who had prom- 
ised to advocate principles in diametric opposition 
to his several years of practice,” etc. Hillman’s 
eloquent delivery and beautiful similes won over 
many people to his side, and he had much applause 
as he sat down. 

Now comes Donald’s turn. His youth and glow- 
ing cheeks beget sympathy for him, as all eyes turn 
toward him. He begins by modestly answering 
Hillman’s argument, and then proceeds to show how 
great an advantage the country will gain in in- 
ternal improvements, and in the direction of free- 


THE DEBATING SOCIETY. 


39 


tlom, by the triumph of the Whigs. He claims from 
well known history that General Taylor is remarka- 
ble for honesty and straightforwardness, and that, 
though a true soldier, he is no "creature'* of Polk’s 
administration Donald has made a favorable impres- 
sion, though he lias done nothing very remarkable, 
except to show a wonderful familiarity with the 
politics of the country, that would do honor to a 
much older lad. 

Mr, Straight now enters the list with ardor. He 
asks, with pointed emphasis, what such a mere boy 
knows about the country. He treats Donald to 
many a sarcastic query, and ridicules his ideas of 
freedom being promoted by a party whose leading 
men are slaveholders. Straight shows great con- 
tempt for his young antagonist, both in words and 
style of speaking. Donald’s face burns, and his 
whole nature is aroused. 

Just as soon as the lawyer’s voice had ceased, and 
the applause of his friends sufhcently died away to let 
him be heard, the youth begins a fervid reply, which 
took everybody by storm. He points out the false 
position of ‘Northern “ dough-faces .” He touches 
upon the demerits of slavery, and he claims in elo- 
quent phrase that the country will take several steps 
forward by the election of General Taylor. His 
replies are so pointed, his wit so quick and cutting, 
and his arguments so sound that he has evidently 
won the decision of the assembly in his favor. 

Straight gets angry and shows it in his few words 


40 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


of rejoinder, and this makes the matter worse. The 
vote is taken, and Donald has more than two-thirds 
on his side, where the majority are Democrats. He 
has won the palm in debate before he is fourteen 
years old, against able and educated men The peo- 
ple gather around him — shake his ‘hand, and predict 
that he will some day make a great orator. 

The Friday night following, the term is closed, and 
Donald packs his little trunk for the journey. His 
mother and Henry have come to Weaverton to take 
him home. She gets the gossip modified by time is 
glad that Jeannie Mark turned away from Donald 
but proud that Donald has such talent for speaking, 
and hopes that other people’s grapes will always be 
“sour” to him. Henry gets his promised skates, 
and the three have a pleasant though cold ride home 
the following day. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE CHURCH — THE PRAYER-MEETING — AND THE 
HOME ON SUNDAY. 



O matter how much the heart of a boy may 


1 ^1 get restless, and be filled with the desire to 
roam abroad, he is glad enough, after a little expe- 
rience, to turn homeward. Donald was indeed 
happy to get back, and he never can forget how his 
father, the first evening, plied him with questions — 
how Henry hung about his chair, to take in the full 
charm of Donald’s revelations of Weaverton life, 
and how anxiously his mother watched to see if her 
boy had lost any moral ground by his first contact 
with the world. 

The next day after his return, being Sunday, 
the usual journey to the “ meeting-house ” was 
made. 

Everybody noticed Donald. “ How you have 
grown, Donald,” “ flow hearty you look,” “ Guess 
you’re glad to get home,” and like sayings greeted 
him on every hand at the recess. He was tempted, 
like so many boys of his age, to stay away from 
Sunday-school, and spend the intermission in con- 


42 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


versation with the grown-up men ; but he knew his 
mother would be sorry, and his Sunday-school 
teacher would fear that he was losing ground. So 
he resists the temptation, and sits with the old class; 
and soon gets interested in the questions, and makes 
his teacher smile happily at his bright answers. 

The ever-recurring Sunday-service, where all the 
country people have a pleasant meeting, the singing 
in the high gallery ; the solemn reading of the Word 
and fervent prayer; the animated practical preach- 
ing morning and afternoon ; the hour’s teaching in 
the Sunday-school during the intermission, and the 
brisk ride home in that ever-decreasing column of 
carriages, which deviate at cross-roads or stop at 
the houses — all this, commonplace enough, it is 
true, makes its impression upon the boy. It is re- 
membered when boyhood is gone, and when these 
simple, refreshing privileges exist no more except in 
memory. 

They are at home betimes, and sit down with 
sharp appetites to the Sunday dinner at three 
o’clock. Somehow, notwithstanding the absence 
of all hands except Parker during the forenoon, 
precluding the probability of unusual preparation, 
this Sunday dinner always has an unusual relish. 
The Saturday baking, however, had prepared the 
pork and beans and the wholesome brown-bread. It 
did not take long for Mrs. Woodward to spread the 
white cloth, put on the knives, forks and plates, get 
ready in different ways the nicest of apples : and sup- 


THE HOME ON SUNDA\. 


43 


plement everything by the lightest of ginger-cake 
and the amplest of pies, ready at hand on the fire- 
frame sideboard. 

Those' Sunday dinners were always pleasant to 
Donald and Henry and Donald's recent return 
brought extra cheerfulness into all faces. Henry 
says . 

*• Donald, don’t you want to go to the prayer- 
meeting?’ 5 

The Methodist people had preaching at the 
school-house about once in two months, as part of 
one itinerant minister’s circuit ; the other Sundays 
they had simply a prayer and conference meeting 
for an hour, from five to six. The young people 
liked to go They met their companions there, 
both boys and girls, and there was so much variety 
to the singing speaking, and praying, that the meet- 
ings themselves usually interested them ; except, 
perhaps, when the appeals of the very zealous 
Christians came too close home. 

All the neighborhood turned out in their Sunday 
best, filling the road, Henry and Donald with them, 
in time to be at the school-house at five. 

When the hour for the meeting arrives, Mr. 
Smoothman, the country merchant, starts the sing- 
ing: “All hail the power of Jesus’ name.” The 
tune being sung by good strong voices, with at least 
three parts, doubtless with some dragging, the sing- 
ing rang inside and outside as good as a bell, and 
called the tardy neighbors to their places. Donald 


44 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


and Henry, ascending the inclined aisle, take their 
seats near the back part of the room. Somehow to 
Donald this meeting comes home to him more than 
ever before. The prayers were fervent the speak 
ing was earnest, and Donald was receptive. Mrs. 
Schrilling was very pointed. She looked straight at 
him, as she said : 

“ Why, my young unconverted friends, do you 
delay? You have not been true to your parents, 
you have sinned against your God, you have not 
followed the teachings of your childhood, you have 
broken all the Commandments, and you are exposed 
to everlasting punishment. How can you put off 
repentance! Why not come to Jesus, your Blessed 
Saviour, and live?” 

Donald had heard all this before — the same en- 
treating tones, the same eyes filled with tears — and 
it made little or no impression. But now his heart 
began to respond: “Yes, I did betray the trust of 
my parents ; I did take those grapes, and they were 
not mine; I did swear an oath in the bitterness of 
my heart; I am a great sinner. Mrs. Schrilling is 
just right; she may not know it, but she does hit me 
hard.” When Mr. Smoothman asked for repentant 
ones to rise for prayers, Donald was almost of a 
mind to get up, but pride and the thought of his 
companions kept him back. He knew he was 
somehow wrong, a good deal discontented and 
restless, and did wish he was such a Christian as 
these good people had been talking about. But he 


THE HOME ON SUNDAY. 


45 


did not tell anybody. Henry heard, but did not 
exactly see what there was for him to do. He was 
glad the steer didn t kill him — glad Donald was at 
home again, glad of his skates, and pretty glad 
school was going to begin in a week. 

After the meeting Martha Smoothman made 
Donald s heart jump, when, with her bright 
black eyes, and pleasant smile full upon him, 
she said. “Welcome home, Donald. We hear 
you ve done wonders at Weaverton. The cir- 
cuit minister says ‘you beat the lawyer in the 
debate.’ " 

“Thank you, Martha, glad you heard good of 
me/’ he stammered, blushing, doubtless from a slight 
self-conviction, as he wondered if the minister had 
told any more concerning him. 

Martha liked Donald, and did not mean to tell 
any gossip that begins with praise and ends with a 
“but." She changed the subject. “You know school 
begins a week from Monday, and who do you think 
is going to teach ? ” 

“Why, Mr. Hillman said he was trying to get the 
school, but the trustees were afraid he couldn’t man- 
age the bad boys who put Mr. Wakeling out of 
doors last winter.’' 

“Oh, you were one of them yourself, Donald; 
didn’t you dive for his legs and trip him up, you 
rogue? ’ said the young lady r shaking her finger at 
him. “Yes, father, who is Chairman of the Board, 
has hired Mr. Hillman, and I guess, from the bold 


46 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


look of his eyes, that Donald and the other bad boys 
will not trouble him.” 

Donald blushed, and said he wasn’t a fool any 
more, he liked Mr. Hillman ever so much, and he 
wanted him to teach him, so that he could go to 
Mr. Hillman’s college. For one, if there was any 
fighting, he should fight for the teacher. 

Donald and Henry wended their way home in the 
twilight, Henry playful and chatty ; but Donald much 
like an older man, with a steady gait and thought- 
ful face. 

Sunday evening was always a peculiar one at 
Farmer Woodward’s. 

Mrs. Woodward sometimes read to her boys; but 
generally they had a sing. She used to sing in the 
church choir, and Mr. Woodward had a grand bass 
voice. The boys were always told they couldn’t 
sing; nature had not given them voices. But Don- 
ald, when his voice was changing and he had, in 
spite of all good resolutions to speak softly, a sort 
of bull-frog roughness in his tones, would, never- 
theless, against all remonstrances, learn to sing. 
He stuck to his singing-book at times very much 
as he did to the old newspapers. His father, hav- 
ing compassion on the boy, and perhaps on the 
rest of the family, who had to endure his har 
monies, had bought him a “melodeon.” It had 
been silent during Donald’s absence at Weaver- 
ton, except when little Henry had tried his hand 
at picking out the simple air of a few common 


THE HOME ON SUNDAY. 


47 


hymns for his own and his mother’s entertainment. 
This Sunday night they had a jubilee of song; 
Donald plays and sings, mother gives the treble, 
father the strong bass, and Henry chimes in his 
shrill boyish notes. Parker smokes slowly, and 
divides his attention between the singing group 
and the fire. 

All this, too, is commonplace ; but it was real 
life then : contentment and rest stole in upon the 
family. It is a sweet picture in the memory to after 
years. Possibly, with softer harmonies and more 
real music, the same group may occupy and thrill 
the rooms and halls of an upper mansion, already 
preparing as one or another is entering the gates. 
The events of this Sunday, and many others like it, 
dwell long in the mother’s memory, long after the 
husband and father, has ceased his earthly work, 
and the boys have grown up and gone forth to bear 
their part in the great world's battle. The pictures 
to her are well defined — the groupings at the church, 
around the church steps at the end of the service, 
at the Sunday-school, the homeward exhilarating 
ride, the pleasant party at the dinner-table, the road 
full of men and women, boys and girls, going to 
the evening service (a picture caught from her south 
window), and the evening joys. All this, told in out- 
line, has a beautiful filling-up in the mother’s mem 
ory, a sacred softness is given to it in the atmos- 
phere of the mother’s heart. 

Still, life is not all memory or castle-building. Mrs. 


48 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


Woodward said often; “I take the comfort of my 
children, as I go along.” It may be, however, that 
this compensatory comfort was in a decreasing ratio 
with increasing age. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE COMMON SCHOOL. 

H ENRY and Donald sleep together. It is 
December, and getting to be pretty cold 
weather. 

There is no place for a stove or fire-place in their 
little attic bed-room , so that Henry is inclined, 
when he first awakes at dawn, to cover up his face 
as he feels the nipping of the sharp, frosty air this 
Monday morning. All at once he remembers, 
“ School begins to-day.” 

“Come, Donald, wake up ! We must go early, to 
get our seats. It is broad daylight.” 

There were two things Donald did not like ; one was 
to go to bed at a reasonable hour at night, and the 
other was to get up early and promptly in the morn- 
ings. But the unusual cry of Henry, “ School 
begins to-day,” roused him, so that he gets up 
quickly. They on with pants and stockings, and 
rush to the fire below with the rest of the wardrobe 
in their arms The teeth chatter a little too much 
to finish dressing up-stairs. But they are not afraid 
to douse their heads and faces in really cold water 

49 


50 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


at the kitchen pump. The water and the crispy 
roller-towel give a handsome glow to the boys’ 
cheeks, better than the coloring of wine or rouge. 
Mrs. Woodward smiles at them at breakfast, and 
says with some pride : 

“ Good air and good water make handsome boys. 
Donald, you must ask Mr. Hillman to come and 
board with us this winter. It’s quite a way to walk, 
but the exercise will do him good.” Donald and 
Henry were both glad of this invitation. New faces 
and new circumstances are almost always welcomed 
by an American lad. 

The boys, bringing their tin-pails from the closet, 
fill them with “their dinner,” two biscuits, two 
fried cakes, and two apples for each. The mother 
assists in wrapping their necks and faces with the 
warm knit comforters. Then they put on their mit- 
tens, draw down the fur caps over their ears, so that 
you can see only four bright eyes between caps and 
comforters. Thus apparelled they start before the 
sun is above the horizon for school. Even lazy 
boys move quickly in New England in December. 
They speed along the road with very few walking 
steps. 

The school-room is already alive when Henry and 
Donald enter. It is a lively scene. Boys jumping 
frpm seat to seat, and talking at the top of their 
voices , girls running up and down, or swinging 
around in circular groups. “ Oh, Donald, we’ve beat 
you ' voices exclaim; “we’ve been here an hour!” 


THE COMMON SCHOOL. 5 I 

Donald begins to look around for an untaken seat. 
George Schrilling calls out to him : 

“ I say, Donald, you can’t sit next to Martha 
Smoothman. if you do want to : ’cause I've got the 
seat next to the middle aisle.” 

Donald colors a little, as boys (and men, too, for 
that matter) will, when unaccountably somebody re- 
veals their own thoughts. Of course, now he does 
not wish to sit next tc the middle aisle, and goes 
away over into the back corner, as far from the 
girls as he can. Henry gets a seat to suit his 
shorter legs nearer the teacher’s desk. 

The reader will infer that Donald is very sensi- 
tive, He has, indeed, pretty responsive nerves and 
a learful temper when it is aroused, and I am sorry to 
say, as we shall see, one not under very good gov- 
ernment at this period of his life. 

He had hardly chosen his seat and put his com- 
forter, cap, and little pail on the under shelf as a 
sign of possession, when Elisha Savage, a boy thick- 
set, apparently good-natured, but, like some Irish- 
men, ' always spoiling for a fight,” threw an apple- 
core into Donald's face and laughed aloud, showing 
his handsome and saucy teeth derisively. Donald 
was a little younger and more slender, but temper 
makes up all differences ; he sprang upon Savage 
over the seats with extraordinary quickness, and 
down they go together, with Donald on top. 

He holds him crosswise, pounds his face and 
pulls his hair as hard as he can, while Savage strug. 


52 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


gles with all his might to give back blow for blow. 
But there is little use while the anger is up in 
Donalds heart. He calls him bad names, and 
strikes fast, till Elisha begs for quarter. Then 
Donald lets him up as quickly as he can. Elisha now 
jumps upon Donald, and the boys go down a second 
time together. This time Donald is under, and 
gets his own face badly beaten, when the sound 
from the children outside is “The master’s coming! 
the masters coming!” The fight ceases and the 
lads go to their seats. 

Poor Donald ; his face is scratched and bruised, 
his hair completely disarranged, and his collar be- 
smeared with dirt and blood. He has been so angry 
that he is now weak, trembling, and ashamed. 

The master, Mr. Hillman, comes in and passes 
quickly to his desk, taps gently with his ruler, and 
says. 

“Come to order, scholars.” 

There are before him between sixty and seventy 
scholars, of all ages and sizes, from the infant of four 
years to the young man of twenty-one. He spends 
the first half-day in organizing into classes. As soon 
as it is proper, Donald steps up to the master, and 
delivers his mother’s message, and then asks to leave 
the room for a few minutes. Mr. Hillman saw at a 
glance what was the matter, and let him go. At a 
kind neighbor’s, he bathed his swollen face, and also 
rearranged his hair, and tried to rearrange his ruffled 
spirit. 


THE COMMON SCHOOL. 


53 


As he was going back to the school-room he 
thought of his good resolutions of the Sunday, a 
week before, in that very school-house, so soon and 
so completely broken. Could he ever conquer his 
fiery temper? Tears of shame, contrition and hu- 
miliation then followed. He steals back to his seat, 
determined to be a better boy. 

When the noon comes there was an intermission 
of an hour. 

AU the little pails come out; generous boys and 
girls, who have abundance, give to others. Some 
boys have a pocket filled with apples, never more 
delicious than when eaten at school. Henry never 
gets into trouble. The boys know how kind and 
forbearing, bright and genial he is, so that he is the 
favorite for hide-and-seek, playing ball or playing' 
-horse. Donald governs himself this time, rather 
morosely it is true, as Elisha dares him to another 
fight, a fair fight ; and the boys begin to gather to 
see the fun; but NO, Donald says: 

“ ’Lish always was a mean fellow, let him fight 
with his own class.” 

Of course Elisha is ready to take up this insult, 
but the older boys interfere and the girls cry, “For 
shame ! ” So that Elisha Savage contents himself 
by saying: 

“ Don Woodward thinks himself some pumpkins 
’cause he’s been over to Weaverton. He allers was 
stuck up.” 

Donald shuts his mouth tight, looks out of the 


54 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


window, chokes down the rising anger, and for once 
gets the mastery of temper and tongue 

The town school of those days had a singular 
routine, and how any master got through the day, 
is now a mystery. Reading for four or five classes, 
arithmetic, geography, and grammar for the same, 
and books unclassified, there being four or more 
kinds of arithmetic, as Greenleafs, Smith’s, Colburn’s, 
Davis’, etc. The spelling, the last set of exercises, 
reversing the order of the reading-classes, begins 
with the last quarter of the day. The little, restless 
ones would spell and then be dismissed unless some 
parents objected, wishing even their little chil- 
dren to have the full benefit of the six hours of con- 
finement. Then the other classes follow, till the 
“ first class” spells last. Webster’s spellers were 
then universally used, and seemed to give some 
shadow of system and solidity to the day. 

Donald did well at this, the first evening. Martha 
Smoothman smiled toward him, though she herself 
missed the very word that he spelled, by which he 
went to the head of the class. They all stood in a 
row, and the one spelling took his place above the 
one or those who had failed. 

Though still somewhat crest-fallen from his affair 
of the^orning, he walked home with Mr. Hillman, 
and talked a little with him concerning Weaverton 
matters. 

A scholar always has a feeling of awe in the pres- 
ence of the master, whom he has constantly seen 


THE COMMON SCHOOL. 


55 


exerting complete authority over a house-full of 
pupils. It makes Donald feel shy and embarrassed 
to be walking with Mr Hillman, though perhaps 
the distance between them was lessened by their 
common attentiveness to the young lady sisters, 
the Misses Mark, and by their common frolic and 
common woe the night of the husking. And really, 
there was but four years* difference in their ages.. 
Hillman was very pleasant and gracious to Donald, 
outside of the school-room. 

Thinking from his silence that Donald was still a 
little sore over his morning conflict, and wishing to 
turn away his thoughts to something pleasanter, 
Hillman says : 

“ Donald, how did you and Jeanme Mark come 
out?” 

Donald blushes as he answers; Jeannie was too 
far advanced for me.” 

‘ Why, I did not find her such a grand scholar, 
Donald, she was not up to you in her studies.” 

“No, Mr. Hillman, but she knew all about so- 
ciety; could dance elegantly, and blushed because 
I was ignorant of society, and was awkward in 
cotillon and never could waltz. When she found 
out my weakness she was mortified, slighted me and 
gave me the mitten.” 

“ Well, well, Donald, you don’t give uj£ the ship 
that way do you ? ” 

• Yes, I do ; her eyes were opened, and mine, too 
Little she cared for me, and I soon got the bettei of 


56 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


my fancy for her pretty face and graceful form, 
when I found she liked the dancers best.” 

“ How old you seem, Don. My affair with her 
sister was different ; only a little pastime for us both. 
She must have been engaged, and, as you may have 
heard, I was deeply in love before I went to 
Weaverton.” 

“ No, I never heard that. She might not like to 
have you so much with Miss Mark; somebody 
might tell her.” 

“ That is a fact, Donald, just what happened. The 
grapes-story, my flirtation with Miss Mark, and 
other stories not so true as these, were carried to 
her, and I am yet in trouble about them.” 

But as we do not propose to tell Hillman’s love 
story, we will not pursue the matter further, except 
to say that he repented, confessed and was forgiven 
by the beautiful and true-hearted young lady, to 
whom he was thus early engaged. The young men 
in this confidential way, had broken down every 
partition wall between them, before they had 
reached Farmer Woodward’s snug little cottage on 
the hillside. 

The sky had been overcast since noon, and the 
weather moderating from the clear, sharp cold of the 
morning. Just as they turned the corner where 
the shade tree had been smashed by lightning, into 
the farmer’s private driveway toward the house, 
the snow began to fall slowly, in small, dry flakes. 

“I guess,” says Donald, Yankee boys always 


THE COMMON SCHOOL. 


57 


guess, “ I guess we shall have a heavy fall of snow.” 

Mr. Hillman asks, good-humoredly, “ Why do you 
think it will be heavy ? ” 

“Oh, when a man sets out on a long journey he 
begins slowly. The storm begins slow and sure.” 

Henry was at home before them. He was too 
hungry to wait. He had begged a doughnut right 
out of the boiling kettle, cooled it in cold water and 
“ stayed his appetite,” as his mother said. 

It is not surprising how hungry school boys are. 
They go with little breakfast, eaten very early. 
They often share their dinner with others, or sol- 
dier-like take a bite or so by the way or at the first 
morning recess. They play hard, and to cap all, if 
healthy lads, they are growing fast and need extra 
supply. 

It was the greatest trial Henry as a boy ever had, 
to watch his mother get the supper, and wait the 
fearfully slow operation of cooking. I don’t think 
he ever will forget the details of biscuit-making in 
the “ tin kitchen-baker,” or the manner the griddle 
cakes were formed and evolved, or the way the coals 
were put into a heap for the tin tea-pot, and the tea 
making therein, for he was wonderfully attentive at 
these operations. 

Mrs. Woodward never appeared untidy, even at 
the hard, warm work of cooking. She leaves every- 
thing for a few minutes to welcome Mr. Hillman, 
and shows him into the best room, where there is a 
cozy fire in the stove, and two unlighted candles, 


58 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


large and sensible in the brass candle-stick, so bright 
you could see your face, yes, several odd -shaped 
faces in them. 

4 Mr Hillman, I'm glad you accepted our invita- 
tion You must make yourself at home. I have 
to do my own work, so you must amuse yourself. 
I think you play the melodeon. We moved 
Donald s in here from the dining-room, that you 
and he might practise, without being bothered by 
the family.” 

The boys help their father and Parker with the 
chores at the barn, Mr, Hillman plays a little, then 
rests after his weary school-day on the sofa, while 
Mrs. Woodward prepares the evening meal. The 
candles are lighted, the white cloth is spread, the 
best china is on the table, the food is abundant and 
well-cooked, and who shall find a happier group than 
these six — Mr. and- Mrs. Woodward, the two sons, the 
master, and the hired man” — gathered there of an 
evening in the New England farmer’s home at the be- 
ginning of winter- MnWoodward is a type of the well- 
to-do farmer, though all in his district are not so frugal 
or beforehanded. This fact, with the usual accom- 
paniment to such prosperity, an excellent house- 
wife, in Mrs. Woodward, saved Mr. Hillman from 
the common fate of schoolmasters in that section 
of country, i. e., from “ boarding around.” 

Bright and early the next morning, the boys are 
up ; their mother already has the breakfast half- 
ready. Isn’t it wonderful that these mothers hold 


THE COMMON SCHOOL. 


59 


out so long in their ceaseless routine of daily duty! 
The feeding and care of the cattle, the journey to 
the sheep-barn, the stilling the hungry pigs, and the 
milking of the cows, the preparation of the fire-wood, 
these are “ the chores." The boys bear a hand 
at the chores, while Mr. Hillman studies a little in 
the house, so as to keep pace with his own college 
class. Breakfast — it is a hearty one, good in itself 
and better for the active exercise of the morning to 
all hands — breakfast is soon over. A foot of snow 
has fallen during the night. Mr. Woodward and 
Parker get up the ox-sled to beat out, the road be- 
fore the wind blows the snow into heaps. 

Donald and Henry tie their pants hard down over 
their boots, and all mount the sled. Four oxen are 
hitched on, two and two ; a stick of timber ten feet 
long is chained under the sled-runners, and away 
they go, Parker talking loudly to the oxen by name, 
while Donald and Henry shout from innate glee. 
Other sleds soon follow, loaded with road-breakers 
and scholars. Some few boys have hitched their lit- 
tle coasting sleds on behind so as to take the “down 
grade ” on the way home from school. The school 
scene is altogether different from that of the day 
before. A rousing fire of “two-foot wood,’ thickly 
set on end in the large open fire-place, warms the 
room. The scholars come just before nine, wrapped 
closely in hoods and comforters, the sleds are stalled 
like horses nearly, and just outside the door. Little 
feet come stamping, stamping in, till the floor is 


6o 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


patched with white ; the breathing is hard, and the 
chatting is loud, happy, and shrill. 

But soon the tapping of the ruler on the desk 
brings order from the brisk confusion. The schol- 
ars seek their places, little ones on the front benches, 
with larger and larger ones behind them, on to the 
big boys and girls on the back seats. The usual 
routine is now taken up. “ First and second class in 
reading, take up your Bibles.” Each scholar rises 
and reads a verse. 

Who can forget the school tone, loud enough, 
strong enough, but a curious monotone, sometimes a 
little nasal, withal. 

Mr. Hillman had them reaa around twice. He 
tried by corrections, by caricatures, and laughable 
imitations, to break up the foolish habits already 
formed. Donald excited the admiration of Martha 
Smoothman and the other OBSERVING scholars by 
his manly, straightforward reading. Henry, too, 
picked up the idea of independence, and read off 
with singular clearness and positiveness, making 
some mistakes, but those that were out and out, and 
easily corrected. After the Bible-reading, then the 
regular order of the several classes in reading began. 

Both Donald and Henry were specially delighted 
with the classic stories of the Revolution found in 
their school-readers. Donald’s grandfather had often 
held him on his knee when he was five or six years 
old, and told him many wonderful tales concerning 
that great war in which Donald’s great-grandfather 


THE COMMON SCHOOL. 


6l 


had participated as a captain ; and his newspaper 
gleanings about the Mexican War just over had 
more recently been added to his store ot knowl 
edge. These facts heightened the boys' inter 
est, and deepened the impression of those daily 
readings. 

Henry never could forget how Mr Hillman trained 
him in that dryest of studies, English grammar, and 
parsing. He would not only have to tell the part 
of speech, but tell what to do with it, and give the 
fixed reason for it over and over again. 

When the lessons were halt through, there was 
the recess of ten minutes for the girls. Then, after 
the girls returned, \ a minutes tor the boys. How 
the voices would shout and ring, as the boys 
emerged from the school-house door little boys 
ahead. Snow-balling., making snow-images, snow- 
stables, snow-houses, wrestling at arms-length, and 
back-hug, and trials of speed in foot-races, were 
among the boys’ favorite amusement during the 
recess. And oh, how short those recesses did seem 
to Henry; for he entered w’th ah his heart into the 
fun. Not so with Donald — he was too quick-tem 
pered for rough sport. 

One day at recess two or three of the boys were 
talking together. One ot them was Donald, another 
was Alfred Smoothman. 

“ Come, Don, let us go up the roof, and look down 
the chimney, ' said Alfred. 

“ How can we get up?” 


62 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“Oh, ’Lish Savage will give us a lift — won t you, 
'Lish?” 

“ See if I don’t/’ says the broad-shouldered young 
Savage. 

Donald gets on the stone wall that runs to the 
corner of the school-house, lifts up his foot, Savage 
takes it in his strong hand and aids him to spring 
upon the roof near the edge. Alfred follows in 
the same way, and the boys have soon worked their 
way up to the ridge-pole, and put themselves firmly 
astride the school-house. Then they work along by 
short jumps to the chimney, and get up, Santa-Claus- 
like, to look in. 

Just then Elisha Savage has marshalled his forces, 
and begins a snow-balling attack upon Donald, his 
old and really unforgiven enemy. 

Donald is " treed ’ this time, and cannot resist. 

Elisha’s soul is delighted, the hard balls of snow 
fall thick and fast. Alfred and Donald bear it at 
first with little complaint, but soon it is too hard. 
Alfred begs for quarter and Donald gets into a 
furious passion. He is now nerved up to despera- 
tion and he descends in the face of pieces of ice 
and balls of snow Hr lace is hit and bleeding, but 
he does not stop lor thal down the roof he comes, 
springs upon the wall and then upon the ground, 
and makes a break for Savage, who avoids him and 
darts into the school-house. Donald follows, regard- 
less of consequences. He rages fiercely at the boy 
as others hold him back, and declares he will take. 


THE COMMON SCHOOL. 


63 


his life. The teacher interposes and tries to calm 
Donald, but it is of little use. The great tears will 
course down his cheeks; blind with passion, he will 
double up his fists and start toward Savage just as 
soon as Mr. Hillman relaxes his hold of him. 

Finally, after Donald has broken up all order in 
the s.chool, and continues to act so much like a per- 
son insane, Mr. Hillman takes him to his desk, 
makes him hold out his hand, and with the ferule, a 
large ruler, strikes his palm five or six very severe 
blows. * 

Donald now relaxes ; shame and weakness com- 
plete his discomfiture. He goes to his seat, and 
sobs and cries with his face in his handkerchief be- 
tween his hands, leaning forward upon the school- 
desk, till school is dismissed in the evening. When 
Donald reached home that night, his mother’s quick 
eye saw the plight he was in. It appeared to her as 
if he had been through a long period of sickness. 

She had a long talk with him, and told him how 
wrong it was to yield to his temper. He was truly 
penitent and hoped he would not be again so tried 
— but didn’t see HOW he could keep the dreadful 
anger down, when Elisha Savage or any other un- 
scrupulous enemy should assail him 

But I anticipate. The recess being over, the 
geography and arithmetic classes are heard, then the 
little ones come up and say their letters, and next 
the class in “ a, b, abs ” recites. Then these two, 
composed of restless, tireless little mortals, are dis- 


6 4 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


missed, and allowed to go home. The larger classes 
spell in line, one after the other, and at four o’clock 
another school-day is closed. Caps and comforters, 
cosey hoods and shawls, are quickly put on, and glad 
voices mingle, as the scholars bid each other adieu 
at the school-house door. 

The routine of this day is repeated with, little 
variation for the ten weeks of a winter-school. Of 
course, there is a progression on the part of most of 
the scholars, and the teacher works into a system of 
his own, calling many large scholars as sub-»teachers 
to help him through with his numerous classes. 
Donald makes great strides this winter in his 
studies. He ciphers through Smith’s arithmetic and 
parses through “ Pope’s Essay on Man,” and really 
for progress and scholarship excites the admiration 
of the generous Martha Smoothman and some other 
appreciative young ladies, but, as you may suppose, 
his temper is not always the best. He does not ap- 
pear to himself, to his mother, to the teacher, or to 
anybody to the best advantage in this respect. He 
does not even come up to his own standard, 
Christian neighbors shake their heads when Donald 
Woodward is' mentioned. “ He’s a smart boy, but 
he has an ungovernable temper. Something will 
happen to him ! ” 

The story went into circulation that one Saturday, 
when school did not keep, Parker who was always 
Donald’s friend, crossed him in some way as Donald 
was feeding the cows with the pitchfork, when he 


THE COMMON SCHOOL. 


65 


rushed at Parker with the tines foremost and would 
in his sudden anger have thrust him through, ex- 
cept that a stanchel happened to intervene and 
catch the fork and arrest its violent motion. 

Parker forgave him and said : “ Don has got stuff 
in him ! M It takes “ stuff” to make a man of, but it 
mustn’t rule him ; if it does it ’ll ruin him. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE WOOD SUPPLY — THE ACADEMY. 

M RS. WOODWARD was really very ambitious 
for her boys. Her own brother, of about her 
age, had been a student, and had graduated from 
college. He afterward became a prominent lawyer 
and a successful politician. As the reward for the 
course he had pursued, he had succeeded in becom- 
ing an honored member of Congress, representing 
at Washington the district where the Woodwards 
lived. 

Mrs. Woodward had now great hopes for Donald, 
since she heard of his success in debate at Weaver- 
ton. The winter school being over by the middle 
of February, the boys were helping their father get 
up the usual supply of wood. By sunrise in the 
clear winter mornings you could see them, well wrap- 
ped in their comforters, and with hands covered with 
warm mittens, riding upon the ox-sled with Mr. 
Woodward and Parker toward the small forest a 
mile to the southeast of their home. 

The sled makes the well remembered creaking, 

66 


THE ACADEMY. 


67 


crushing, crisping sound as it follows the oxen, ris- 
ing and sinking behind them over the yet poorly 
broken road. Each boy holds by a sled-stake. They 
cannot balance themselves like Parker, who carries 
the “goad-stick,” and gives too much attention to 
the oxen to mind the small disturbance of a tilt- 
ing, floorless wood-sled. Mr. Woodward takes hold 
of a stake and talks with Donald. “Your mother 
thinks you’d better go away to school again this 
spring, Donald. If you’ll be smart and help us get 
a good wood-pile by March, I guess I’ll take you to 
Toffnom Academy this time. Mr. Euhart, an old 
and experienced teacher, runs that academy, and has 
‘ fitted’ a number of boys for college.” 

Donald’s eyes brighten, and Henry glances 
curiously at his face to see how he takes this 
new fortune. “ I’m glad enough to go, pa, and 
will do my best to chop the wood. Toffnom will 
suit me, for Uncle Tom ‘fitted ’ there.” 

“Ain’t I old enough to go, too?” chimes in 
Henry. 

“ ’Tisn’t age altogether, Plenry, ’tis money that’s 
wanting. Can’t send two boys at a time. First 
come, first served,” answers the practical father. 

“ Who’ll drive the oxen to plough when spring 
comes, if you go, Hal ? ” asks Parker. 

“ Oh, I see, I can’t go. I’m so young, so poor, 
and so useful. But, Don, I’ll tell you what ; won’t 
I have a good time? For Martha Smoothman is 
going to have a regular breakdown of a party in 


68 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


March. It will almost break her heart, though, 
that you’re going, Don, for she thinks a good deal 
of you. She’s little ’fraid of your fire.” 

“ I am cooling down my fire, Henry, but ’Lish 
Savage is almost too much to bear. Never mind 
the party. Guess Martha won’t miss me much, for 
they say she has just got a ‘beau,’ a tall youngster 
from North Grenville.’,’ 

'‘Well, Don, anyhow, I will have lots of fun going 
to parties — sliding with the boys, making sap-sugar 
in the maple-grove, and playing ball when Fast-day 
comes, won’t I ?” 

In this way the nine-year-old lad braced up his 
heart and courage to meet what was inevitable, yet 
not altogether pleasant to him. 

“Your time for school will come soon enough, 
Henry,” said his brother, comfortingly. 

So they chattered till the woods were reached. 
Parker, Donald, and Mr. Woodward had bright, 
sharp axes, with smooth handles, and made the 
chips fly off and the woods ring with the echo of their 
regular blows, dealt against first one side, then the 
other of the tall, straight trees. Birch, maple, yellow- 
birch, and ash, with an occasional red-oak, were the 
trees that were speedily falling and cut into lengths 
of about eight feet. Henry looks on„ watching the 
tree tops, where the first uneasy motion begins 
before the trees come smashing down into the snow. 

“Don’t mind the trees, Hal, we can make ’em fall 
where we say,” says Parker. 


THE ACADEMY. 


69 


As soon as they get a little ahead, Henry and his 
father proceed to load the sled, with big logs at the 
bottom and small at the top. Then they drive on to 
the house and unload a few rods from the wood- 
shed, which is the eastern appendage to the main 
cottage. 

Donald and Parker are left in the woods to cut 
and pile up all they can, during the absence of the 
team. 

Day by day, except in severe storms, this opera- 
tion goes on, till a big column of green wood six or 
eight feet high, runs along by the fence. It shuts 
in the view from the south windows of the cottage 
But it is pleasant to see the wood itself, newly cut, 
and waiting there for the “cutting up time.” A 
large wood-pile at this season is a sign of thrift. 

“The loafers and the drunkards,” Mrs. Wood- 
ward says. “ always burn green wood.” 

By the first of March the wood supply was cut 
and hauled all ready for * cutting up and “season 
piling ” Donald was to be excused from the latter 
work. His mother had gotten his clothes in readi- 
ness as before for Weaverton and the evening pre- 
ceding his journey to Toffnom Academy had 
arrived. 

This evening at home was a pleasant one to Don- 
ald Delighting to go to the academy with a boy s 
love of something new, and a boy’s brightest hopes, 
still there was something that said to his heart: “ It 
is very pleasant here ; no new friends quite like 


70 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


mother, father, and Henry ; nothing more cheerful 
away than mother’s tea-table, and father s bright 
open fire.” 

After his trunk had been carried to the *' pung.” 
(a sleigh with a rectangular box-like top for carrying 
produce to market, and bringing home merchandise 
more conveniently than in the ordinary conveyance), 
and put in upon the hay, and the warm buffalo- 
skins had been arranged to give a comfortable seat 
and a good cover, he turns back to bid his mother 
good-bye The choking sensation in his throat is 
quite evident, and the tears will come. The moth- 
er’s face shines upon him and the pleasant voice 
says: “You must not forget whose son you are ; 
Donald; ’ and she seals this anchoring injunction 
with her mother’s kiss. 

At such times Mr Woodward is always for busi- 
ness “Time we were off !” ’‘Short stories!” The 
tall hat, broad shoulders, big gloves and whip dodge 
the parting scene, and proceed to unhitch the gray 
mare and get into the driver’s seat, with the corner 
of the buffalo left open for Donald. 

Behind the jingling music of the bells they go up 
hill and down without special incident to the 
Toffnom Ridge, eight miles from Mr. Woodward’s. 
The academy heaves in sight several miles before 
they come to it. It is a goodly-sized country- 
building that will accommodate a hundred students. 
It has a square belfry that lifts itself up tower-like a 
third higher than the rest of the building ; and the 


THE ACADEMY. 


71 

academy, being on a ridge, is the most attractive 
and sightly object for miles around. 

As soon as descried, Donald hails it. “ See, father, 
see, isn’t that the academy?" 

“Yes, Donald, that’s where you will be tied up for 
awhile Mr Euhart’s a strict, rapid man, and you’ll 
have to mind your pranks.” 

“No danger there, pa, I hope no 'Lish Savage 
will be there,” he says, with a slight twinge of 
conscience. 

“ ’Lish Savages or their likes are everywhere, 
Donald. .. „ ‘ A soft answer turneth away wrath’. . . 
Keep your temper well in hand, Donald, and look 
out for your words. We are coming to Mr. Cogs- 
well’s. I shouldn’t wonder if the old man or his 
son would board you. The old man has been a 
rough one in his day, a sea-captain, but they say he’s 
joined the church lately.” 

A dark, wood-colored house, two-story double, 
with front door and hall in the middle, situated a 
little off the road on a knoll, met Donald's eager 
gaze. His quick eye saw the face of a young lady 
with blonde complexion at a window below, and 
two young men, evidently students one at each 
window of the room above. All this to the left of 
the front door. The curtains were closed on the 
other side. 

Donald holds the mare, while Mr. Woodward, with 
a business air, hemming a little and drawing up his 
chin, goes to the door and knocks. The young lady 


72 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


meets him with pleasant courtesy and says, “Won’t 
you come in, sir?” 

“ Thank you — came to see if you could board a 
boy of mine.” 

“ We cannot, sir, but perhaps brother, who lives 
in the other half, can. I will see his wife.” 

She takes a look at u the boy” in the wagon. How 
quick a young lady can take in size, age, position, 
and the like. She then hastens to her sister-in-law, 
and soon returns with sister’s wish to see Mr. Wood- 
ward. 

The bargain is struck with Mrs. Cogswell, for 
board for one dollar a week, with washing to be done 
at home. 

Donald helps his father take his trunk from the 
“pung” and carry it to the front room, across the 
hall from the young men. 

Mrs. Cogswell shows them the way, with the baby 
in her arms, followed by the tour T year-old Johnny 
who keeps eyes on Donald, peeping from behind his 
mother’s dress . but he darts off with a pout when 
Donald attempts to notice him and pat him on the 
head. 

They find very little furniture, neither floor nor 
walls painted, but everything is as neat as can be 
A country-boy at Donald’s age does not think much 
of furniture or ornament: 

Mr. Woodward gives Donald what money he 
thinks he will need, with his usual caution concern 
ing the careful keeping of accounts. ‘ Good to 


THE ACADEMY. 73 

keep boys short, Mrs. Cogswell; less tempted to 
waste ! ” 

“ I’ll come for you in two weeks from Saturday, 
Donald, to spend Sunday at home and get changes 
of clothes. You and Mr. Euhart can settle tuition 
matters. Mind your mother’s advice, and don’t let 
time run to waste. Good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye, pa. I’ll try, I’ll try, sir.” And from 
the front yard he watched his father departing till 
he disappeared in the distance; almost of a mind to 
call him, and ask him to take him back to Grenville. 

But homesickness only came upon Donald like 
twinges of cold in a chilly morning. They are on 
him, and then they are gone. The threat fills and 
chokes a little, and then the phlegm is gone, as he 
turns to become better acquainted with his new 
surroundings. 

Miss Cogswell, sitting at the window still, doubt- 
less behaving differently from what she would had 
Donald been a few years older, seems really to give 
him a smile of welcome. As he enters the hall she 
opens her door, and says: “ Welcome to Toffnom, 
Mr Woodward; won’t you come in, sir, and warm 
you r 

This WAS very kind, and Donald says, “Thank 
you, with heightening color, and accepts the unex- 
pected invitation. 

Miss C was about twenty, and regarded Donald 
as only a boy, but a boy that she fancied right away. 
She put him completely at his ease, gave him all the 


74 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


information that as a stranger-lad he ought to have, 
and a real lasting friendship was begun between them 
that very afternoon of his arrival. 

After this interview he finds his way to his own 
apartment, and spends the time till he is called to 
supper in unpacking his trunk and arranging his 
“ things,” as he had learned to do at Weaverton. 

At supper he met Mr. Jack Cogswell, his landlord, 
a short, thick-set, dark man, good-natured when 
he did not drink. At times, Donald afterwards 
found, when Mr. Jack Cogswell had been drinking, 
he was cross to his wife, and fearfully tyrannical 
with his little boy. One such day Mr. Jack heard 
some of his own language in the mouth of Johnny. 
Johnny had become angry with his little kitten tor 
scratching him, and he cursed the kitten with the 
usual fearful words. Mr. Cogswell, who, having just 
come home from the store flushed with liquor, was 
poking the fire with a stick, hearing this, turned 
upon his boy and swore at him, struck and kicked 
him till the child screamed with pain and fright. 

Mrs. Cogswell was a timid, pleasant little woman, 
who often cried and prayed as she worked, and then 
bore the heavy burdens which fell to her lot without 
complaint and>with apparent resignation. 

Donald’s introduction to her household became a 
positive relief to herself and a great source of pleas- 
ure to Johnny. He immediately snuggled under 
Donald’s wing, sitting close to him at supper. Very 
little was said at this first meal. Donald was hun- 


THE ACADEMY. 


75 


gry, like so many other growing boys, and to-day he 
takes two meals in one. The steaming tea, the 
beautiful biscuits, and the abundance of apple-pie he 
did not soon forget. 

That night Miss Cogswell took occasion to stop 
him as he was passing through the hall, and intro- 
duced him to the two students who boarded with 
her father. These were full-grown young men, 
Holland and Harrison, who were not intending 
to take a college course, but were piecing out their 
short winter schooling, as they told him, by a spring 
term at Toffnom. 

When Donald seeks his pillow in the large room 
assigned him, and begins to run over the events of 
the day, he feels satisfied with his good fortune. A 
good boarding-place, not a half-mile from the 
academy, a young lady friend who is herself a 
student, and a very pleasant and agreeable one, 
and two fine-looking young men tor companionship 
and counsel. 

How full of sunshine the prospective world seems 
to Donald now, as he passes into the deep, un- 
troubled sleep of a healthy youth. 

In the morning, while the family is at breakfast, 
the academy bell gives out its cracked sounding 
with wonderful loudness. 

“ Half-past eight, Mr Woodward,” says Mrs. Cogs- 
well. *' Half-hour till school opens.” 

It brings the blood up to cheek and forehead to 
be called “ Mr Woodward ; ” Mrs. Cogswell always 


76 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


did it. It is nice to be progressing towards man- 
hood : it is pleasant to be treated as a man. It sets 
Donald up for his tasks for the day. It is a* good, 
wholesome thing for us to recognize the manhood 
of a boy, enough at least to help him fix his self- 
respect. 

From north and south and east the students flock 
toward the academy as the bell begins its final ring. 
These are young gentlemen and young ladies from 
sixteen to twenty-five. 

Donald thinks, as he looks at them, and walks 
along with Holland, who is very tall : “I must be 
the youngest here.” Just then he catches sight of 
a bright-eyed girl of thirteen or fourteen, who gives 
the new student one bright look, and then darts into 
the academy. Holland says: “Miss Hale; isn’t 
she pretty?” Donald glances the other way, as he 
passes between the posts set up for a gate by the 
academy fence. A young gentleman appears there, 
just about his own size, close to him. Holland says: 
“ Lincoln, this is Woodward, of Grenville. He’s to 
fit for college, and’ll be in your class, I guess.” 
George Lincoln and Donald shook hands in a 
manly way, and George said : “ I’ll be glad of a 
companion.” George is very straight, has large 
eyes, very smooth black hair parted pretty near 
the middle, and Donald thinks must be a little 
proud. He follows George into the largest room. 
The desk is at the farther end. The seats are fac- 
ing toward the centre aisle that runs from the door 


THE ACADEMY. 


77 


of entrance to the desk. The young men are 
ranged on one side of this .main aisle, and the 
young women on the other, ascending to their 
places by transverse aisles. A curious arrangement 
this was, so placing fun-loving young people of both 
sexes that they could conveniently look at and make 
signs to each other. 

In the desk, as the bell ceased to toll, sat Mr. 
Euhart ; straight black hair, dark complexion, pierc- 
ing black eyes, clean-shaven face, and medium 
stature were items in his descriptive list. 

Mr. Euhart was the principal of Toffnom Academy. 
He was a quick man. His gait was so rapid that it 
was almost a run. He read so fast that it took all 
your attention to keep up. He thought quickly, 
and spoke quickly and to the point. Everything 
about him meant business. He says: “Take your 
Bibles — Jones, begin — ” Two verses each for awhile; 
one student after another reads. “That will do. 
Let us pray.” Then a short, fervent petition goes 
up to God for his direction and blessing. After he. 
closes his prayer, he says, “Sufficient.” It means 
for two or three classes to go into different rooms 
for recitation ; one class to remain and recite, and 
other students to go to their boarding-places for 
study, or to study in their present seats if boarding- 
houses are too far off. Donald is puzzled what to 
do, so he sits still. 

Mr. Euhart has seen him, and now calls him up to 
him. “Good-morning, sir: not been here before, I 
think.” 


73 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“ No, sir. I am Donald Woodward. My father 
brought me yesterday.” 

“ What studies, sir?” 

“I would like to fit for college.” 

“All right, sir. Here’s a class of beginners in the 
Latin Reader; sit with them this morning.” 

Donald takes his place beside George Lincoln, and 
catches the eye of Bessie Hale opposite him, as he 
joins the class. 

The short reading lesson and the long grammar 
lesson are gone through with. The class is a week 
ahead of him. He gets the necessary books before 
leaving the academy. He is to join the class in 
English grammar, and to begin algebra. His work 
is quickly laid out for him by Mr. Euhart. “Read- 
ing, grammar , algebra, Latin — Speaking one week, 
composition the next. All right, Woodward ; study 
hard, sir, and we’ll fit you in three years ! ” 

Donald is initiated. He enters with zeal into his 
studies. He finds it rather lonesome, studying at 
his room. It is his first experience at this. One is 
apt, with open book, to get to musing and building 
air-castles; or, one gets sleepy before the lesson is 
mastered. It is nice to have George Lincoln drop 
in and go over the lesson with him before recita- 
tion. 

It is hard to be so regular. Donald finds excel- 
lent and tempting books in the library. It is very 
much easier to read than to study. He joins 
the debating society. He must read up and be 


THE ACADEMY. 


79 


ready for the Wednesday evening forensic trial at 
the academy. Thus temptations assail him from 
every quarter to do superficial work in the study line . 
But the shame of a few poor lessons in the presence 
of George Lincoln’s more creditable performance, 
and with Bessie Hale looking on, soon drives Don- 
ald from his lazy habits, and before the term is half 
over Mr. Euhart has become proud of him as a suc- 
cessful student, who promises in time to honor him 
and the academy at the college. 

The recreations at the academy take on no regu- 
larity. When the spring has well opened the round 
ball is the favorite with the young men. While the 
snow lasts the young people have occasional parties 
at their boarding-houses. The young men, after the 
society meetings Wednesday evening, start out to the 
front door, while the young* ladies are putting on 
their cloaks and hoods, and, bracing up their cour- 
age as much as possible, each timidly extends his 
arm, and, no matter how dark it is, says : “ Shall I 
see you home?” A shrinking away, with “No, I 
thank you,” or “I’m engaged,” is often the unhappy 
response — but the gentle touch of the arm, and no 
reply, brings the young man the joy of success. It 
is thrilling to the performer — the first speech of 
youth, even if the arms are out of place ; the first 
piece of music of a maiden, even if the fingers trem- 
ble; the young doctor’s performance before his first 
patient — yet neither will exceed the painfully diffi- 
dent joy of this accepted gallantry. 


80 DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 

Donald, however, had learned comparative bold- 
ness at Weaverton, and though among the youngest, 
he was quite an acceptable beau even to Miss Cogs- 
well. 

But he had noticed the beauty, smartness and in- 
dependence of Bessie Hale. She would wrap her 
shawl close around her arms and go quickly through 
the outer door of the academy, before even the 
brave George Lincoln could say, “ Shall I see,” etc., 
and go home with her boarding-mistress as escort. 

Donald thought he would try — so that one 
Wednesday evening after the debating society had 
adjourned, he managed to be going through the 
inner door at the same time with Miss Bessie, and 
said in a low, pleasant voice: “I’d like to walk 
home with you, Miss Hale.” She says, “ All right ,” 
with a slight flush and quick flash of pleasure from 
her speaking eyes. 

Nothing like preliminaries in this world; proper 
ones make business go lively. Donald remains, 
Bessie comes from the shawl-room, and in the most 
natural way, to the astonishment of the waiting, 
hopeful George, walks up to Donald without a word, 
takes his arm gently, and they go out together ap- 
parently with the utmost coolness and self-posses- 
sion. So much for the first approaches. Before 
the end of the term the older students smile at this 
young'couple, so often together, but George Lincoln 
could not quite forgive Donald for “cutting him 
out.” 













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“Over went the Sleigh.” Page 81 


THE ACADEMY. 


8l 


He did not get angry though, but teased him 
when he met him. ‘Hale, Don Woodward, hale!" 
or, “ How hale and hearty you look,' with a 
mischievous emphasis on the hale; or “ You’ll catch 
hale Columbia some day.” These things plagued 
and irritated Donald not a little. One night soon 
after the “ cut-out,” as the students, girls and boys 
together, were having “ a sliding match” down the 
Academy hill toward the little village of Toffnom, 
they had besides their sleds, a sleigh bottom. The 
young people would load down this sleigh with as 
many as it would hold, and the young men take 
turns in attaching a sled behind each runner in order 
to hold back and steer it. George was on this de- 
tail once and had passed his sled-string under the 
hind brace of the runner in his front and kept it in 
his hand. He let it go just as the sleigh-runner 
struck a slight drift of snow, and over went the 
sleigh, tumbling everybody on board into the deep 
snow. Donald, being on the tipping side, fell under- 
neath and got a fearful “ ducking.” George laughed 
at him excessively while he was cold and snowy, and 
told him : “ ’Twas lucky for you, Don Woodward, 
’ tw d nt hail! ” 

This was too much for the quick-tempered Don- 
ald. He flew at him with fists and feet, but the 
big “ Holland ” stepped up and separated them, 
and said, “No fighting, boys;” and the girls cried, 
“Don’t! don’t! George’s only in fun, Woodward.” 

Donald turned away, muttering, “Too much fun 


82 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


'comes earnest sometimes/’ The temper was up 
now, and feeling that it would get the mastery of 
him, he left the party without another word and 
went to his boarding-place. That night he had a 
long communing with himself after his passion had 
subsided. He soliloquized : “ What a fool I am ! 
Can I never keep my temper? I got angry at noth- 
ing but Lincoln’s fun;J behaved in the most morti- 
fying manner in the presence of Bessie Hale, Miss 
Cogswell, and the other girls. What will they think 
of me?” Then the wrong of it comes dimly before 
his conscience. “ I get mad, then I say wicked 
things, and do what I can’t undo. I might have 
killed poor Parker. I might have killed *Lisk. I 
might have seriously hurt George. What a dread- 
ful thing if I should spoil all mother’s hopes and my 
own, sometime, in a blind passion, and become a 
murderer! ” 

That night, Donald took the Bible his mother 
gave him, and read his father’s favorite proverb : “A 
soft answer turneth away wrath ; but grievous words 
stir up anger.” 

After he was undressed he tried to pray by his 
bedside, and ask God to forgive and help him. 
He kept thinking about his sin and shame, half 
hoping that he might keep the temper down in 
future, till he fell asleep. 

The next morning Miss Cogswell walked to the 
academy with him and congratulated him on show- 
ing so much spirit . She liked to please, and did 


THE ACADEMY. 


83 


make Donald feel less ashamed by her well-con- 
cealed flattery — though he told her frankly that he 
was ashamed and sorry for his conduct, and hoped 
the sport of the sleigh-party was not spoiled by 
him. 

“ O, no, indeed, Mr. Woodward; Miss Hale and I 
took your part, and told George Lincoln he was a 
natural-born hector. He laughed and said: ‘There, 
’twasn’t my fault,’ but owned that he’d thrown too 
much ‘hail’ at you. So you and he had better make 
up and be friends.” 

Bessie Hale was coming past the corner just hap- 
pened to do so — how many sweet things “just hap- 
pen ” when Donald and Miss Cogswell arrived. 
She exclaims: 

“How glad I am to see you, Miss Cogswell; I 
want to borrow your dictionary. Good-morning, 
Mr. Woodward; you left us rather suddenly last 
night,” and then coming near him she says quickly 
and frankly in a low, sweet tone : “ It wasn’t right 
of you, Mr. Woodward, you must ask forgiveness i * 
This was but the echo of his own conscience, and 
Bessie's frankness and fearlessness won him to ner 
more than ever. 

As soon as class was over he had a good oppor- 
tunity to speak to Lincoln, and said in a manly 
way “ I’m sorry, George, that I struck at you last 
night, sorry I gave way to temper.” “All right, 
Donald,' he answers, “we won’t quarrel ’bout small 
things; I oughtn’t to tease* so give us your hand.” 


8 4 


DONALD S SCHOOL DAYS. 


These seeming surrenders cost boys of fifteen and 
sixteen a good deal of extra pluck, but they are 
really great victories. A victory over self is a good 
step upward — a stride toward a successful life. 

Donald at this time prospered finely in his 
studies. He overtook the class, mastered his lessons, 
greatly to the satisfaction of the principal, who 
himself heard him recite in all of them. 

“Fitting boys for college” was his pride. He 
did this himself, giving his assistants other classes. 

Once in two weeks, the gray mare had appeared 
for Donald about noon ; generally it was Mr. Wood- 
ward who came, but once at the end of the spring 
term little Henry appeared. 

It was now the last of May, and Mr. Woodward 
said, “ The going is settled, and spring’s work’s on 
us; guess Henry can drive the mare and bring Don- 
ald home.” 

Mrs. Cogswell and Johnny and even the baby 
were delighted with this genial boy, for he had din- 
ner with them and played for a couple of hours 
while Donald drove to the Toffnom village to make 
some purchases for his mother. 

On the way home, Henry posted Donald on all 
Grenville matters: “Martha Smoothman was en- 
gaged ; ’ Lish Savage had* gone to Massachusetts to 
learn the shoe trade. They’d got a new minister 
at the Hill; cousin Jim Mason had angered his 
father (a Universalist) by joining the Baptist Church, 
and been turned out of doors. Pa says Jim didn’t 


THE ACADEMY. 85 

do right; should obey his father; but md says Jim’s 
right, should obey God always.”’ 

Donald was cheery with Henry, and told him 
about his teacher, his studies, his companions, the 
speaking in the school-time and in the debating 
society, and also about George Lincoln, Holland, 
Harrison, and the other young men, and not a little 
about the young ladies, Miss Cogswell, Miss Hale, 
and others. “ I guess, Don,” says Henry, “ Miss Hale 
must be nice, the way you talk about her.” 

“Yes, she’s a nice girl and a good scholar — a real 
Christian, too, I believe, for she made me ‘ own up ’ 
when I’d got mad at George Lincoln.” 

“Glad of that, Don, for your mad’lltear you all to 
pieces some time. Glad, ’Lish's gone, ain’t you?” 

“Yes, I’m bound to do better now, Henry. 
There’s home.” The cottage was just in sight. 
“ Don’t it look good every time we come to it. It is 
better than boarding-places.” 

. They soon drive into the lane, and are met by 
their mother at the old south door. 

“Well, boys, in good season; glad to see you so 
well, Donald.” He receives his mother’s welcome 
kiss at the door-step, while Rover jumps around 
him with lively joy at Donald's return. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


THE ’VACATION, 


HIS evening, after Donald’s return, the tea-table 



-L looked unusually inviting. His mother, with 
her new cap, freshly crimped, having just a little 
ribbon adornment to relieve the snowy white, with 
also her new checkered dress, all accompanied and 
brightened by a happy, smiling face, sat by the 
tea, with hot water, cream and sugar, ready for 
service. 

Mr. Woodward is opposite — Donald on her right, 
Henry and Parker at the left. 

The table has on it the pretty china that always 
to the boys meant something good when it appeared 
(to-night it meant welcome to Donald.) A high 
pile of steaming biscuit, light and puffy ; two plates 
of plain bread, brown and white ; the cake-basket, 
well loaded with its appropriate variety of cake ; 
the unfailing supply of pies, the apple and the pump- 
kin; a jelly that the mother made; the glass jar of 
maple syrup ; the butter-bowl with its spread-eagle 
stamp and its own inimitable yellowness; these, 


86 


THE VACATION. 


87 


with a plate of cold meat for Mr. Woodward and 
Parker, lay in tempting and convenient order be- 
tween them. 

Bays don’t seem to notice the pains a mother takes 
to show her love for them — but when years have 
gone by, when the mother’s eye is dim with age, 
and their own children are receiving the same at- 
tention from painstaking, self-denying, tireless 
mothers, then the old picture comes back, and 
their hearts catch glimpses of real mother-love and 
warm up with grateful affection, that did not per- 
haps at the time find any coveted expression. 

“ Well, Donald,” says his father, “ Henry and the 
mare got through all right ? ” 

‘ Yes, sir, Henry is a famous driver. He went 
safe. He drove up Mr. Cogswell’s side hill clear to 
the front door and didn’t tip over.” 

“ Ah, indeed, that’s the way with boys ; must do 
something extra. How is old Captain Cogswell? I 
used to know him in Massachusetts when he was a 
tough one.” 

“ I didn’t see him very often. One day his daugh- 
ter asked me to dine with them — and we stood 
up while the old man asked a blessing. Harrison, 
one of the students, told me the Captain always said 
grace with his eyes open. He was opposite the win- 
dow that looked into the garden, where little Johnny 
was perched on the fence. Just as he was saying, 
‘ O, Lord, bless the fruits of thy bounty,’ he saw a 
cow pushing through the gate to the beds just sown. 


88 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


So he finished with ‘ and drive that cow straight out, 
you little rascal 1* rushing suddenly out of the door 
to stop his cow and Save his garden.” 

They all laughed heartily at Donald’s recital, and 
Mr. Woodward wished to know if he didn’t swear at 
Johnny. 

“Oh, no, pa. He’s good now. He doesn’t swear,” 
answered Donald. 

“Well, glad of it, hope he’ll vote the Whig ticket, 
now he’s lost his Loco-foco habit.” 

Henry calls Donald’s attention to the maple 
syrup, and says: “We’ve got lots of syrup and 
sugar this year, and it’s all mine, Don.” 

“ How’s that, Henry. Didn’t pa and Parker have 
a hand in making it.” 

“ Oh, they helped, of course, but I’ve paid them for 
their work in sugar, and it’s been eaten up. The rest is 
mine, and I’m going to sell it and save the money.” 

“ But about this on the table,” asks Donald. 

“Why, ma buys it from me, of course, and pa pays 
the money for what he calls ‘ home-consumptiony' 

“Tell us how to make sap-sugar, Henry; I didn’t 
see anybody making any over at Toffnom.” 

“You see, Don, after you went off, the last part 
of March it froze nights and thawed days. I took 
my sled and slid down to the maple grove one 
morning while the crust was on the snow. Parker 
’ was there. He says: ‘Nice sliding, Hal; why don’t 
you make some money and have fun, too?’ 

“ ‘ How so. Parker, how can I ? ’ 


THE VACATION. 


89 


“ ‘ Why, tap them trees, haul in the sap on your 
sled to a good place where there’s wood enough to 
burn ; bile it down, and make ’lasses and candy and 
sell ’em.’ 

“ ‘ All right, Parker,’ I said, * will you show me 
how and help me, you ox pa?' 

“ ‘ Don’t know; my time’s not mine, buy up your pa 
with ’lasses ! ’ 

“ Well, pa agreed to let Parker help, and to help 
himself when he could, and I was to pay him a 
’centage, ten pounds in a hundred, and ten quarts 
in a hundred. 

“Well, next morning, Parker put the axe and the 
auger and the post-axe on my sled, and away I went, 
holding ’em on, sliding to the grove. We cut some 
three-foot logs. Parker made troughs of ’em with 
the post-axe. He split some stakes, foot and half 
long, three or four inches wide, creased ’em down 
the middle, and sharpened ’em at one end. Then 
I took a trough or two on my sled and some stakes. 
Parker calls ’em ‘spiles.’ We went to a big maple 
tree. Parker bored a hole in the tree two foot from 
the bottom, made an upward cut across the tree 
under the hole with his axe and drove the stake 
in, and then put a trough under the stake. So 
we went from tree to tree, till all our troughs 
were in use; then we found two trees five or six 
steps apart, got a crotched stick, and fixed it up 
like ma's crane , with big nails for hinges on one 
tree and for latch on the other. I hauled all the 


9 o 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


old dry sticks I could find, and piled ’em up for fire- 
wood. 

“ Next day ma lent us her big kettles and two 
pails, and Parker helped me haul ’em — so big , I’s 
afraid to slide with ’em. We put the kettles on our 
crotched crane, then we went to the trees. Parker 
says they’re tapped. We found some water with a 
little ice on it in the first trough, and a little icicle 
on the end of the stake. I tasted the water and 
’twas sweet; well, ’twas sap. We turned it into the 
pail, and carried all we could find to the crane and 
poured it into the kettles. I made a great fire, ’fraid 
’twould burn the crane, but it didn’t, and I kept the 
fire going. Parker now made us a little cabin close 
by, and we had some hemlock boughs, some buffalos, 
and lots of blankets ; so Parker and I staid down 
there and slept. Guess I didn’t always wake up, but 
Parker did and kept the fire going, till the sap came 
to syrup. We’d cool it and try it in the snow a 
little bit at a time ; so we knew when ’twas nice 
syrup, candy -like, or dry sugar. Pa helped some. He 
measured the syrup, and weighed the sugar, and took 
his pay.” 

“ I sh’d like to have helped, so that I could 
have some of the money,” said Donald; “can’t you 
divide?” 

“ Don’t think I could ; pa says he hasn’t money 
enough to send two boys to school at once. May 
be, I can help him; I like that Toffnom place.” 

This story of Henry had worn out the meal, ban- 


THE VACATION. 9 1 

ished the supper-table, and brought all but his busy 
mother around the bright open fire. 

After the usual lively questions and answers ex- 
changed, the pipe and fire became Parker s rest , the 
spectacles, candle and newspaper are for Mr. Woodward’s 
entertainment, leaving the boys to amuse themselves, 
which they do for awhile by playing the old game of 
“ Hul, gul, handful.” They had hardly sat down by 
the kitchen stove when two of the neighbors’ boys, 
’Lias and George Johnson, came in, and each took a 
hand with them. 

This game is very simple, yet young people will 
play at it by the hour and be interested. It con- 
sists of each taking a given number, say ten kernels 
of corn or ten beans, and then some one begins, hold- 
ing up his hand with a part in it, and says: “ Hul, 
gul, handful, parcel how many! ” to his next neigh- 
bor. The neighbor then guesses. If he guess the 
right number, he takes all in the hand that was up. 
If he guess wrong, he must surrender the difference 
between the number that he guesses and that in the 
hand. Then the guesser puts the same problem to 
his next neighbor, and so on around to the person 
starting the game. Round and round it goes, till 
each one has lost all his kernels except the one who 
wins them all. He, of course, wins the game. 

With this, and one or two turns at “fox and 
geese” on the board that Henry had cut out and 
marked, the short evening was consumed. 

All were in bed by nine o’clock. It did seem cosey 


92 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


to Donald to creep with Henry into that comfort- 
able bed. For awhile the restless spirit curbs itself, 
the youth slips back into his half-conscious boyhood 
moods, and says to himself, “ I didn’t know home was 
so good.” 

If a boy had the power to forecast the future and 
could look the consequences of his out-reachings 
clearly in the face, he might be very content never 
to roam from his father’s counsel and his mother’s 
care, and he might snuggle down in his soft bed, 
fully satisfied with the present “ well enough.” 
It is well for the enterprise of the world that it is 
otherwise — well for the important work of life that 
the proverb “ Let well enough alone” belongs not to 
the impulses of youth, but to the conservatism of 
age. That very night Donald dreamed of the acad- 
emy, the college, and somehow mixed up the 
bright eyes of little Bessie Hale with the life 
beyond. 

The next three months are filled up with work, 
farm-work, in Grenville. That means that boys and 
men have to be up early and “keep busy,” as Farmer 
Woodward so often enjoins upon himself, also upon 
Parker and the boys, “We must keep busy.” They are 
in the midst of seed-time when Donald comes home. 
The wheat, oats, barley, and buckwheat are already 
sown — but part of the potatoes and part of the com 
only are planted. It is always a wonder to a man 
brought up in a city how so much work on a farm 
can be done with so few hands to help. The very 


THE VACATION. 


93 


schedule of the principal items is surprising. Spring 
plowing, harrowing, sowing, bushing, rolling — this 
for the grain fields. Dressing, plowing, furrowing, 
manuring in the hill, planting the corn and the * 
potatoes. Stones are to be picked up and drawn off 
year by year, fields are to be cleared, low lands to be 
drained, fences to be made and kept in repair. There 
is the hoeing-time, when the farmer fights against 
weeds, thistles and grass. The haying-time, mowing, 
spreading, raking, loading, stowing on the cart and 
in the barn. The harvest-time closely follows, with 
all its varied labors. The sheep, the cattle, .and the 
pigs all demand constant care. The orchards and 
the garden cannot be neglected. From the March 
snows to the October frosts the New England 
farmers “keep busy” indeed. Mr. Woodward says: 
“We have to keep busy to make both ends meet.” 

Donald and Henry are not yet counted in as men. 
They have lighter scythes, hoes, rakes, and axes than 
Parker, yet they two do considerably more than one 
man could do. In some things even little Henry 
takes the place of a man. In getting up the ox- 
teams, and in driving them at all kinds of work — - 
in picking up the stones, potatoes, apples, and tur- 
nips; in harnessing and driving the gray mare to the 
Corners store and to the mill ; in spreading, raking, 
and stowing the hay; in driving up the cows at 
night, and in milking them night and morning; and in 
the thousands of little “chores” to which he is put, 
because of his quick eye, willing hand, and ready 


94 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


muscles. Here the boys work away on their father’s 
farm of two hundred acres, mixing up more or less 
fun with every day’s work; occasionally having a 
little extra recreation on a rainy day. The rHiny 
day in the summer, when it did not pour down hard 
enough to wet a boy’s clothes through and through 
in an hour, was always set apart as the hunting or 
fishing day. Usually the fishing was preferred. For 
one day, not long after Donald’s return, he borrowed 
’Lias Johnson’s shot-gun and started on a hunt. He 
had not gone far from home, passing through his 
father’s pasture, when he espied a large flock of 
blackbirds, just alighting. He approached them 
cautiously, with his loaded gun in his hand. They 
saw fiim and flew up into a tree near at hand. Don- 
ald took deliberate aim and fired into the flock. In- 
stantly they all darted up above the tree, flew off a 
short distance, and then returned to the same tree. 
He had gotten ready and fired again into the flock; 
not a bird fell: again they circulated around and re- 
turned, as if in mockery. Donald j^ow puts in a big- 
ger charge, takes aim with his gun at his shoulder, 
hugging it close, and trying hard not to shut his eyes 
when he pulls the trigger. Bang goes the gun and 
away go the blackbirds, but Donald finds himself 
on his back. The gun did its execution at the 
wrong end. He got up, turned back in disgust, and 
went home with a sore shoulder and lame back, 
and concluded to give up “ hunting ” and take to 
“ fishing ” on rainy days hereafter. 


THE VACATION. 


95 


The first rainy day after this “hunting” expedi- 
tion, Donald asks Henry to go fishing. Then, 
“ Where had we better go, Hal?” 

‘ Down to the brook, I guess, Don. We had a- 
nice time there this spring, catching suckers. They 
won’t bite now, of course, but we had a hand-net 
and a spear that Parker made. I would plant the 
net below a deep hole, and Parker would get sight 
of a big one and throw the spear. He’d catch one, 
and drive lots of ’em into my net.” 

“It is too late for suckers there now, HaL What 
can we catch with our hooks ?” 

“ Oh, there are plenty of chubs, and some perch 
and pickerel — I’ve had best luck right where our 
brook goes into the mill-brook.” 

The boys pocketed two empty tin blacking-boxes 
and filled them with angle-worms dug from the gar- 
den, took their hooks and lines, trusting to their 
jack-knives and the alders that - grow along the 
brook for poles, rolled up their pants to the top 
of their boots, and proceeded to the brook. 

It traverses a part of Mr. Woodward’s farm 
They followed the country-road which crosses the 
brook till they came to the bridge. Henry often 
had “ good luck ” here r so he proposed to Donald to 
try the old place. They cut their poles about twelve 
or fourteen feet long and perhaps an inch through at 
one end, and tapering toward the small crotchet at 
the other; to this they attach their lines. Henry 
drops in his hook, covered with the struggling worm. 


9 6 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


When he gets it near the bottom he feels a bite, 
then a strong pull that nearly breaks *his pole. He 
throws up the pole quickly, and sees a big fellow on 
his hook. As he lands him on the bridge, he cries 
out with excitement, “Oh, Donald, I ve got a horn- 
pout! See him wink his horns! How shall I ever 
get my hook out of his mouth?” This fish’s skin 
is smooth and slippery like an eel’s, and his horns 
are sharp. 

“ Hold on a minute, Hal, and I’ll help you. Some- 
times we have to kill ’em and cut the hooks out.” 

Donald, after one or two failures, at last thrust 
his thumb through one of the “ horn-pout’s ” gills, 
and as the line was strong, making him open his 
mouth, he pulled the hook back far enough to un- 
hook it. Then he threw the “ horn-pout ” far upon 
the land, so that he should not flounder back into 
the brook. 

Now, Donald catches two or three “chubs,” but 
Henry goes too low for the chubs and perches. 
After getting several mock bites, Henry begins to 
think it is best to go to a new place and try; when, 
just as he is pulling up his line, he feels a stronger 
nibble. He trys to throw up his pole, but it bends 
so much that he fears it will break, for alder poles 
are not very strong, so he drops the small end 
down to the water and pulls it in, hand over hand. 
When, by this process, his fish is coming out of 
the water, be cries again at Donald : “ Why, Don, 
I’ve got an eel; how much like a black-snake /” 


THE VACATION. 97 

“ What splendid luck you have, Hal. That’s an 
eel, sure enough, and a big one, isn’t it?*' 

The moment Hal worked his eel upon the bridge, 
the eel wriggled somehow off the hook. Then the 
boys had a time of it ; Hal kept kicking him back 
as he would twist this way and that, Donald then 
caught him with his hands near the head and slimed 
his coat badly, as he had to keep changing his hold 
hand over hand, while he worked himself with the 
slippery eel back from the brook. 

“ Bring a club, quick, Hal.” 

With a short stick, Donald soon gives him a blow 
across the neck that checks him, and another near 
the tail that makes him surrender. While the boys 
are securing the eel a bit of a frog goes hopping to- 
wards the brook in the grass. “ Catch him, catch 
him, Hal!” says Donald. “He's just the thing 
for pickerel !' 

Donald now takes off his ‘ baby hook,” as he calls 
it, and puts on his line a much larger one, one whose 
shank is quite an inch in length. He hooks the lic- 
tle frog so as to hurt him as little as possible and 
leave his legs free. He then skips him slowly on 
the water and lets him swim near logs, bushes, lily 
pads, and other things that these fish use for shelter. 
Suddenly, quick as a gun-flash, the little frog is 
caught ; a pickerel has swallowed him, hook and all, 
and run off under the pads. By a little care, so as 
not to break pole or line, Donald works the fish 
ashore. 


9 8 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“That’s a nice one, Donald,” says Henry. “Yes, 
it was the little frog that did it.” 

Donald has got his mind above the smaller fish 
now, so that he continues to try for pickerel — Henry, 
'‘getting the hang of the business,” as he declares, 
catches two or three nice yellow perch. He enjoys 
catching them, “ because they are so smart ; ” but he 
does not like their sharp fins, that prick his fingers 
and make them bleed. 

The rain has been falling gently, but it has at last 
wet the boys’ clothes quite through and made them 
very heavy, so that they think it is time to quit 
fishing. 

“ You wind up the lines, Hal,” says Donald, “and 
I will secure the fish.” 

“All right; put mine by themselves, so I can 
show ma what I caught.” 

Donald cuts a little branch with two scion-like 
projections, and strings his own fish on one and 
Henry’s .on the other. He puts on the eel, horn- 
pout, pickerel, perch and chubs, big and little — then 
washes them all in the brook. 

Now the boys make for home, with the fish in 
hand, as fast as they can. 

Mrs. Woodward has become anxious because they 
were gone so long — and isn’t much relieved when 
they come in, at last, wet to the skin. She says , 
“Why. boys, how wet you are! You’ll catch youi 
death-a-cold. Hurry and change your clothes. 11/ 
take care of the fish!” Mr. Woodward looks up 


THE VACATION. 


99 


from his newspaper and declares ; “ That’s always 
the way with boys ! Rub , rub, rub yourselves, when 
you get the wet things off!” The boys, shivering a 
little, soon have everything off in their room, and 
laughing and screaming rub each other till their skin 
is dry and warm and rosy. 

They put on a warm change of clothing and are 
soon ready for the fish, that they know, by the siz- 
zling and sputtering, are in preparation. 

Their mother did know how to prepare their fish 
to suit them. She got Parker to scale the perches, 
chubs and pickerel, and skin the eel and the “horn- 
pout.” She kept the last two over night, so that 
she could boil them until the strong taste had dis- 
appeared ; then she treated them like the rest. 
The others she rolled and dried in corn-meal, in- 
side and out, and then fried them with a little fat, 
ar\d seasoned them. 

<bf course, at the table and till bed-time this night’s 
subject of interest was fishing ; politics and house- 
keeping had to give way to it. 

Boys do not soon forget experiences thus gained. 


CHAPTER IX. 


VACATION CONTINUED— FOURTH OF JULY— BESSIE 
HALE. 

T HE people of Grenville, with the rest of New 
England, always had one gala day. It was the 
Fourth of July. At the time of our story they had 
what was called a brigade muster. At this time of 
Donald’s academy vacation, the brigade was assem- 
bled to celebrate the Fourth on “The Plains,” a 
stretch of poor land that Donald had passed over in 
going and coming from Toffnom. This year the 
militia making up the State quota of troops were to 
parade, and be inspected there by the Governor, as- 
sisted by his staff. The people flocked thither from 
all quarters. As the gray mare had to go in another 
direction, the boys were to walk. All our people 
can testify, there is no excitement more lively than 
that of boys on the eve of this “Independence 
Day.” Donald and Henry were awake before four 
o’clock, talking, laughing, running around their 
room, and making all sorts of disturbance, much to 
the annoyance of Mr. \7oodward, who cannot see 


ioo 


THE FOURTH OF JULY. 


101 


what does ail those boys. They dress with extraor- 
dinary speed, and wait with much impatience for 
their mother to get the breakfast in readiness. I 
don’t think she hurries very much, for elderly peo- 
ple always think it good for boys and girls to curb 
and check all unusual excitement, particularly over 
so common a thing as a Fourth of July celebration, 
and she knew the day would be long enough and 
hard enough for the boys, even if they waited till six 
o’clock for their breakfast. 

Donald and Henry are off at last. They pick up 
George and ’Lias Johnson and Henry Smoothman 
on the way. It does not take them more than an 
hour to get over the four miles of distance to “ The 
Plains; ” but when they do arrive they find it very 
attractive to them already. 

The cider and gingerbread wagons are on the 
ground, that part of it where they are allowed to go. 
Little stands, some of board, with shed-like protec- 
tion from the sun, and some of canvas, with board 
counters in front, are arranged on the right and left 
of the road of entrance. Places have been levelled off 
and smooth boards laid close together for dancing. 
Already a few American citizens have taken time 
by the forelock, and commenced their convivial cele- 
bration of the day the night before. One young 
man is pointed out by Henry Smoothman to Don- 
ald as a very “ fine fellow, only he drinks.” He is 
“ dead drunk ” by the fence near the road. He 
hardly seems to breathe; lies quite still, with a 


102 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


swollen, bloated face. His clothes are quite new, 
but now covered with filth and dirt,. for the young 
man had been very sick before its extra fumes had 
plunged him into such a profound slumber. A 
costly silk hat lay by his side. It had evidently 
been kicked and trodden on. A fine watch-dog, en- 
tirely sober, but very cross, crouched near his feet, 
and would not allow anybody to come near his re- 
spected though fallen master. The boys each said, 
I’ll never drink rum, or I’ll never be a drunkard. 
They soon saw another young man who was un- 
usually happy; he wanted to shake hands with them 
and with everybody. He had a silly look, and 
every few minutes would cry out, ending with a 
hoot: “Hurrah, hurrah!” He jumped on the 
dance-boards; threw up one leg, then the other; 
then, singing Yankee Doodle, tried to dance, tossing 
his hat in the air and catching it. All this clown, 
like performance made the boys laugh till they 
cried. Donald and Henry had twenty-five cents 
apiece to spend. A farmer that Donald knew by 
sight called to him, and told him if he would help 
him hold his team and sell some cider (he had a 
barrel of it in the back part of his wagon), he might 
have half of all they could make. Donald accepts 
the offer, and Henry goes off with the other boys to 
see a monkey-show near the field where the parade 
is to be. He hasn’t yet determined how to spend 
his twenty-five cents. 

Between eight and nine o’clock the companies 


THE FOURTH OF JULY. 


103 


appear, with drums and fifes, coming from different 
directions. Oh, what excitement ! All the boys run, 
Henry with the rest, to get close to the nearest 
company, which is entering from the west. It isThe 
“ Grenville Light Infantry ; ” white pants ; gray coats, 
with short tails and many, many bright brass but- 
tons. The hats are black and high, and almost cov 
ered with beautiful white plumes. The bass drum, 
mer takes the attention of the boys. There is dig, 
nity in his tread, and evidence of strength in tfie 
ease of his motion with that immense drum in front 
of him. Every left foot moves as he beats nis 
steadily measured thump. The boys are stopped 
at an inner gate by some cross policemen, that love 
to show their brief authority by : “ Stand back there, 
boys. Don't crowd up so. You act like wild 
animals,” etc. 

Henry reached an unoccupied place on the fence., 
so he stepped upon a lower rail and looked over. 
The companies were marched and formed into one 
long line facing him. There they stacked their 
arms — that is, those who knew how — the others 
“grounded” them, that is, lay their guns down on 
the ground. 

Henry now sees two cannon being drawn toward 
the middle of the line by eight nice-looking horses, 
four attached to each : an officer in uniform and 
many soldiers are going along with the cannon. 
They are stopped. The cannon are wheeled, with- 
out the horses, a little way out from the line of the 


104 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


companies, and several soldiers are waiting near by. 

About ten o’clock there is great excitement in 
the crowd. They cry out “ Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah !•” 
and try to get past the inner fence and the policemen. 
A dust at first appears to the east of the Plains, 
then a body of horsemen in shining uniform come in 
sight. “ It is the Governor, his staff, and his escort,” 
the knowing men declare. The Governor is riding 
ahead with the old-fashioned three-cornered hat in 
hfs hand, bowing as he passes the masses of people 
stopped by the policeman. He is politer to the 
people than the police — Governors always are in 
our land of Independence. The line of companies 
is in the best order when the Governor approaches 
the left; every man has recovered his gun, and stands 
ns still as he can. “ Present arms !” is cried by many 
voices. The Governor still rides along with his 
hat in his hand. The cannon begin to fire their salute 
just as he passes them (think they should have be- 
gun sooner). The horses are very much excited. 
They are as bad as boys on Fourth of July days. At 
least, two of the Governor’s escort broke from the 
ranks and “went kiting,” Henry said, across the 
fields, beyond the control of their riders, who lay 
back and pulled and pulled till their faces were ted 
one of them lost his hat and his sabre before ne 
reached the fence, to be laughed at by the gratified 
crowd that the policemen kept back. But the 
Governor did nobly — everybody said so. He passed 
all along the line, then rode slowly to a flag that 


THE FOURTH OF JULY. 


105 


was stuck up opposite the middle of the front, and 
then all his troopers gathered around him, close by 
the people at the fence. 

Now the line forms a column, and the column 
marches around in front of the Governor, with the 
drums beating and the fifes playing; the cannon come, 
too, in the middle. Twice they also go round a big 
square, passing the Governor, and then form a line 
where it was before. “ Present arms ! ” again is heard 
and seen. The Governor waves his three-cornered 
hat. and the parade part is over. The guns and 
swords are now inspected, and each soldier is paid 
fifty cents for his day’s work. Then, leaving a few 
sentinels to watch the arms, the officers and soldiers 
go off for a drink of water (not always water though), 
and to see the sights. The shows have multiplied 
since the morning. There is the wonderful ox ; the 
largest pig in the State ; two elephants, covered witn 
a round tent ; the dance-boards, now sheltered from 
the sun by canvas — here men and women are having 
a gay time for twenty-five cents a couple, the fid- 
dling thrown in. 

Henry is meditating how he can get the most out 
of his^ quarter of a dollar. He first buys for five 
cents a long strip of gingerbread. This he eats 
with a relish. About this time, he runs across some 
boys plaguing an old drunken man. Some of them 
are smoking, lighting fire-crackers, and giving the 
crackers into the old man's hand, as he sits in a crouch- 
ing position on the ground. He takes a cracker, it 


io6 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


goes off — he jumps and falls over : then groans and 
coughs, and swears at the boys as he gets up into the 
old position again. The boys shout with laughter at 
this odd show. On the impulse of the moment, - 
Henry gpes to a stand and spends three more cents 
for a “ long nine cigar/’ and five cents for a bunch 
of crackers. 

He joins the fundoving boys, and smokes his first 
cigar: lights a few crackers at a time, and places 
them under the old man’s thigh. They go off with 
a fearful rattle, and the drunkard topples over and 
stretches himself out, and declares: “Somebody’s 
shot me clear through.” ~ 

Young Smoothman coming up, sees Henry. 
“Why, Hal Woodward, how could you do that? 
Didn t know you smoked. I’d be ashamed to trou- 
ble a poor old drunken fool !” 

Henry was ashamed. He began to feel sick him- 
self, and found that his head snapped and reeled 
very much like the old drunkard’s. 

Henry started off, away from the people, as 
fast as he could go. He went fast, yet he could 
hardly keep his gingerbread and breakfast down, 
till he could reach a place of shelter and conceal- 
ment. He succeeded in getting behind a tall 
*tump, and then — and then, how can it be de- 
scribed? Henry declared to Donald that he “ hove 
up Jonah .” 

When he returned to the crowd he was very pale 
and trembly, and really believed there was no fun in 


BESSIE HALE. 


107 


gingerbread, crackers, and “ long nines.” With his 
other twelve cents he bought a sandwich, a glass of 
lemonade, and a stick of candy. He enjoyed these 
pretty well, considering the effect of that “long 
nine.” 

Donald had taken turns in selling with the cider 
farmer, made over a dollar in trade, and had a good 
look at the parade. 

Mr. and Mrs. Hale, Bessie’s father and mother, 
with Bessie, had ridden over from North Renut to 
see the parade. Mr. Hale being a very patriotic 
man, and having a clear voice, had been selected to 
read the Declaration of Independence, and also sun- 
dry resolutions, which were written for the occasion, 
to indorse the people’s faith in the “ never-to-be - 
broken Union ” of our States. 

When Donald saw Bessie driven past him in the 
afternoon, he soon excused himself from the cider 
wagon, and went in search of the Hales. He found the 
mother and daughter in their carriage near the stand 
where the Governor, his staff, and Mr, Hale were to 
be when Mr. Hale should read. The gentlemen 
were already on the stand, and the people were 
crowding up to get as near as possible, when Donald 
appeared at the carriage. 4 

“Why, Donald Woodward, are you here? '* Bessie 
says, in a surprised and pleasant tone. She then 
introduces her mother to Donald: “My mother 
Mr. Woodward.” 

Donald answers in a prepossessing manner, with 


io8 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


some diffidence: “How do you do, Mrs. Hale? I 
am glad to see Miss Hale’s mother.” 

“ I don't think she is quite Miss Hale yet,” Mrs. 
Hale replies, smiling. 

Donald thinks “Bessie is nicer,” but modestly 
makes no reply. 

He is invited to Mr. Hale’s vacant seat. We 
couldn’t describe Donald’s genuine enjoyment of 
this unexpected meeting. He brings Mrs. Hale and 
Bessie some refreshments, and chats with them till 
the reading commences. How the people cheer 
that old Declaration of Independence! It seems 
new , fresh , and good every year. Donald, who is 
such a “Taylor man,” is getting radical, and says, 
much to Mrs. Hale’s amusement : “ I wish that first 
part was really true, or rather that we’d make it true; 
that all the people might be free." 

** Why, so do /, young man,’' says Mrs. Hale. 
“You didn’t tell me Donald was an abolitionist , 
Bessie?” 

“No, I didn’t know it myself.” 

“Oh, I am a Taylor man , Mrs. Hale, that’s all. 
But really I don’t like slavery.” 

Mrs. Hale wonders that a boy so young could be 
so firm and clear in his political notions. 

After Mr. Hale has finished the Declaration and read 
the resolves , which are indorsed one by one by the ac- 
clamation of the people, he joins his family, and is 
introduced to Donald. He thanks him for his polite- 
ness to his wife and daughter, and is about to drive 


BESSIE HALE. 


IO9 


away, when it occurs to him where Mr. Woodward 
Donald’s father, lives, and he asks Donald to take 
a seat by his side and ride home, as he (Mr Hale) 
can go that way as well as not. 

Donald thanked him, but said: “I must look up 
my brother Henry. I have scarcely seen him since 
morning/' Just then Henry makes his appearance, 
with his stick of candy in his hand, and looking very 
pale, 

Mr. Hale takes them both in. Henry is glad 
enough to get a ride, for he does not feel yet equal 
to a four-miles walk. He recovers his spirits little by 
little, in the fresh air, with the ride. At first Don- 
ald and Bessie have many common reminiscences of 
Toffnom to relate and items of news to exchange. 
She expects to return to the school in the fall. 
Then Donald inquires what Henry has been doing 
to change his appearance so. In a humorous, good- 
natured way he describes the delights of drunken- 
ness, whether produced by rum or “ long nines .” 

Mr. Hale declines the boys’ warm invitation of, 
“Do come in, and see our father and mother," by 
saying, “At some other time; we must hasten, so as 
to get home before dark.’’ 

That very evening, after crossing the Renut 
bridge, as Mr. Hale was turning into the *North 
Ridge road, one of his carriage whifffetrees snap- 
ped the holding-strap, and fell upon his off horse s 
heels. The horse sprang forward and around the 
other, turning the carriage into a deep gully and cap- 


IIO 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


sizing it. The horses then broke away and ran. All 
were hurt, but poor Bessie’s spine was wrenched and 
bruised, and she was otherwise dreadfully injured. . . . 
They all reached home alive, but Bessie was in great 
pain, and unable to help herself. The pain in- 
creased with the hours, and no surgical help could 
give her relief. She lingered but a few days, when 
her death came. When it came, it was like a peace- 
ful sleep ; it was a rest, -indeed, from the hopeless 
distress. 

The Woodwards heard of the terrible accident, 
and of Bessie’s death in consequence, at church. 
Donald was so startled that for some time he could 
not speak about it. He and Bessie had, as we have 
seen, been thrown much into each other’s society, 
and unconsciously a strong attachment had grown 
up between them. He realized it now that she was 
gone. 

Both had had an undefined gladness warming their 
hearts at the prospect of meeting again so soon at 
the Toffnom Academy, of sitting daily in the same 
room, and of reciting together in the same class. 
Mrs. Woodward, who was a wise woman, and had 
always heard good accounts of the Hales, was in 
hopes that Donald might continue pleased with 
Bessie, and that the evident friendship between them 
might sometime ripen into a genuine lasting affec- 
tion. When Donald got home from church, he ate 
no dinner, but shut himself up in his room, hid his 


BESSIE HALE. 


1 1 1 

face in the pillow of his bed, and gave way to pas- 
sionate grief, in much the same way as he did when 
he had been angry. He came down for a cup of tea 
in the evening. All the family respected his grief, and 
kept quiet, but his mother said a few words to com- 
fort him: “For some inscrutable reason, my son, 
this has been permitted; remember, of such it may 
be said : ‘ Their angels do always behold the face of 
my Father which is in heaven/ Would you like to 
take me to the funeral to-morrow ?” He stopped 
his ready answer of denial. It would, he then 
thought, be a sad pleasure just to look at her sweet 
face once more. It might be a comfort to the 
stricken parents. Then Donald said slowly, looking 
out of the window, “ Yes, mother, let us go up there ; 
it may do them some good.” 

Nothing is more solemn and sadly impressive than 
the country funeral. All the neighbors participate. 
No hired official for undertaker; none but tender, 
sympathizing hands to minister. The people, in- 
deed, “ Mourn with those that mourn, and weep 
with those that weep.” 

All were silent around the coffin of the beautiful 
maiden, except the half-suppressed sobs of her 
broken-hearted mother. Mrs. Woodward and Don- 
ald were shown seats near the mourning family. 
They truly mingled their griefs with theirs. The 
minister’s deep and gentle tones, the Scripture ser- 
vice that he read, the hymns that were sung, and 
then the slow, silent, solemn procession to the grave, 


1 12 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


fixed a lesson of Eternity in Donald’s heart that 
had never come before. They returned from the 
house of mourning to their home with hardly a 
word with any except Mr. Hale. He, at the mo- 
ment of their starting, thanked them for coming, 
and said to Donald : “She thought you a good boy. 
Come over and talk with us, sometime?” Donald 
promised to do so. 

The Hales had other children, but none that 
could fill Bessie’s place; such places are never filled. 
Her mother, as long as she lived, always mourned 
for her, and her strong, hearty father never again 
quite recovered his old cheerful spirits after he 
closed the eyes of this darling daughter. 


CHAPTER X. 


ACADEMY LIFE — SECOND TERM. 

T HE end of the vacation came at last. The 
term at Toffnom was to begin the first Wednes- 
day in September. So that, during the last few 
days at home, everything- was made to bend to 
preparations for Donald’s departure. 

On Tuesday morning the old mare was in readi- 
ness at the door: the trunk and robes are in place*, 
when Mrs. Woodward says : “ If you will wait, boys, 
for me to get ready, I guess I will ride over to Toff, 
nom with you. I think the ride will do me good, 
and I like to know some of the persons Donald sees 
every day.” 

“ Oh, do, in ci, do go,' Henry exclaims. 

And Donald says: “Wish you could go and stay 
there, mother.” 

She is soon ready and seated in the wagon with 
the boys, Henry rides between them, and drives. 
Nothing occurs worthy of note during the ride. 
* The Plains,” where the brigade-muster took place, 
awakened both the pleasing and sad associations now 

n 3 


DONALD S SCHOOL DAYS. 


1 14 

connected therewith. Henry thinks of his fun and 
follies, and Donald thinks of poor Bessie Hale. He 
finally looks up from a deep thinking, and says to 
his mother. “ Does God really have anything to do 
with things here, mother?” 

* What a wicked question, Don,” says Henry, 
'‘You know He does!” 

Mrs. Woodward understood her son’s trouble, and 
thought carefully before she replied. Sometimes, 
to her own spirit even, when she had looked up and 
strained her spiritual vision to catch a ray of light, 
and her eager ear to gather a murmur of God’s 
lovingkindness, she could not; she could neither see 
nor hear — “ The heavens were indeed as brass.” At 
last she said : “ I have learned to ask for what I want, 
Donald, and then to wait for my Heavenly Father’s 
time to answer me. May I not say that in the end 
He never has failed me? He shows His love, sooner 
or later, to those who love and serve Him.” 

Donald replies: “Mr. Hale and Mrs. Hale were 
good Christians, and Bessie was, too. Yet God lets 
her be killed, and lets them have dreadful grief ! It 
seems to me it must just happen , and that’s all.” 

“ Why, my son, you would not take from these 
broken-hearted people all hope that Bessie Hale is 
in heaven, and that they will one day go to her, 
would you ? ” 

“No, mother, but I wish it would seem to me to 
be true , for I own it does not seem so now.” 

Mrs. Woodward turned the subject to Donald's 


THE ACADEMY — SECOND TERM. 1 1 5 

studies and other things, for she knew that there 
are times when the spirit of argument drives a young 
man into permanent wrong. Donald’s heart was 
wounded then, and he could not yet see the hand 
of love which permitted the wounding. 

Our party had a beautiful day for their ride. The 
air was fresh and bracing, and the numerous groves 
and woods were now taking on their charming, va- 
riegated, bouquet-like appearance as the fall leaves 
were beginning to change from their uniform green 
to all the hues of the rainbow. Incidents may es- 
cape from the memory; conversations deemed im- 
portant at the time will fade out from the recollection ; 
but such rides, in such companionship, and with such 
surroundings of external beauty, have become im- 
'aged in the soul, with more or less distinctness, to 
help our young man’s general shaping and moulding 
by the years to come. 

They are warmly welcomed at the Cogswells’. 
Mrs. Cogswell the younger comes to the door with 
Johnny and the baby, and invites Mrs. Woodward 
in. The boys go to tie the gray mare, followed by 
the irrepressible Johnny. He balances himself 
swinging between the wheels, and says: “Is Henry 
going to stay, Donalds Pa’s got mad and killed 
my dog, and won’t get me another! Pa ain t good 
a bit ; he’s cross, scolds ma, and boxes my ears when 
he comes home from the old store. Ma says it isn t 
pa, it’s the rum that does it. He's tumbled down 
and hurt his ankle now*. He can t go to the store, 


1 16 DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 

and I guess ma’s glad.” Thus the boy runs on and 
reveals the homfe-secrets. Mr. Jack Cogswell is at 
home, sure enough, with a sprain, and being sober 
is in good humor, and welcomes Donald back very 
cordially. The old Captain, his wife and daughter 
come in to see Mrs. Woodward and the boys during 
the evening. Holland and Harrison have not yet 
returned, but are expected the next day. The old 
Captain is “right glad” to see the wife of his old 
acquaintance, Mr. Woodward, and laughs heartily 
at his hope that the Captain’s conversion has taken 
“ the Loco-foco" out of him. 

“Your father, Donald, ought to come over and 
see what a good Christian a Democrat can make — 
but I know he is too prejudiced to believe that a. 
genuine Democrat can be a Christian .” 

The evening wore away pleasantly. Mrs. Wood- 
ward agreed to stay and go to “ the opening” at the 
academy on the morrow. Mr. Euhart had given 
notice that he should speak of the death of Miss 
Bessie Hale on that occasion, and the students of 
the school could pass resolutions expressive of their 
sorrow. 

Miss Cogswell told Donald that she thought he 
had worked too hard during the summer, as he 
looked thinner and paler than he did when he went 
home. 

“ Oh, no, Miss Cogswell. Henry thinks I’m lazy, 
and I don’t think hard work will ever hurt meC 

She, of course, surmises the cause of his paleness. 


THE ACADEMY — SECOND TERM. 


II 7 


but hadn’t really supposed that Donald was" enough 
attached to Miss Hale to grieve for her more than 
her other companions. He didn’t really think so 
himself, but somehow this was a real grief to him, 
and he felt in his heart a great sense of loss. 

Woman-like, Miss Cogswell probes him again: 
‘ George Lincoln has come back. He came to see 
me this morning.” 

“Has he. Is he well; how does he look?” asks 
Donald, kindly. 

“ He was looking hearty and stout. When I told 
him of Bessie’s death, he hadn’t heard of it ; so it 
shocked him dreadfully.” 

“ George is a good fellow,” Donald answers, 
thoughtfully. “Perhaps he loved her. Nobody 
could blame him.” 

“ How quickly the generous heart pardons even a 
rival, when the object has become an angel in 
heaven,” thought Miss Cogswell. Some such vague 
feeling passed through Donald’s mind. Anyhow he 
did feel kindly towards George, and wanted to see 
him, and make him his fast friend. 

Mrs. Woodward in the morning helped Donald 
put his room in more cheerful order than before, by 
a few little things, such as pictures on the wall, and 
daguerrotypes open on the mantel ; clean, fresh pa- 
per on the bottom shelf of his washstand, with two 
or three sea-shells on them ; a rearrangement of fur- 
niture; a careful location of books on his shelves; 
the fitting of a cover she had brought upon his flat- 


1 1 8 DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 

top trunk, transforming it into a short lounge. Such 
things as the quick wit of a mother enables her to 
do in the most barren of rooms, she did, and Don- 
ald already recognizes the ready skill of love and 
good taste, and blesses her for her coming. 

At nine o’clock Mr. Euhart is in his desk. Stu- 
dents and citizens, including the Woodwards, fill up 
the seats, right and left. The old academy has been 
cleaned and freshly painted during the summer, so 
that everything within is now at its best. Mr. 
Euhart opens the Bible to the 14th of John (how 
often that chapter is read on solemn and sad oc- 
casions), and begins to read : “ Let not your heart be 
troubled,” etc. All eyes fill with tears, for all know 
what is meant. After the reading he makes a fervent, 
appropriate prayer: thanking God for His protec- 
tion and love, and entreating Him to bind up the 
broken-hearted, and fit all, teachers and scholars, for 
all the duties of this life, for the hour of death, and 
for the heavenly rest. Donald thinks he never 
heard such a prayer before. (He just begins to 
hear prayer at all, as such). Then Mr. Euhart 
speaks most tenderly of the beautiful Bessie Hale: 
“ God has transplanted a tender rootling to grow into 
a fruitful vine in eternity. He has removed the bud 
of promise to blossom in the skies.” ... As they all 
listen, and shed common tears of sympathy, Don- 
ald feels his heart soften, and gets just a glimpse of 
the fact of the presence of a Heavenly Father’s 
love in the world. Then the curtain seems to drop, 


THE ACADEMY — SECOND TERM. 119 

and shut again every spiritual thing from his view, 
and none of his senses can find evidences of any- 
thing like Fatherly love. 

The students ask Mr. Euhart to let them prepare 
some resolutions to be read in the society meeting 
on the next Wednesday, and say that they will 
have an obituary notice of Miss Hale in their so- 
ciety paper. This request is granted, and then the 
regular school exercises begin. Henry and Mrs. 
Woodward take leave of Donald. “Don’t forget to 
read your Bible and to ask God to show you your 
way, Donald,” she whispers to him as she kisses 
his forehead in parting. How can boys so brought 
up go far astray? The real trouble is, of course, 
weakness under temptation. Donald .and Henry 
never plotted to do mischief. Donald enjoyed be- 
ing called an “ upright, promising young man.” 
This term, there were added to his class two stu- 
dents, a Mr. Hart and his sister Martha, who were 
destined to exert a good influence on Donald. 

They boarded in the same house with him, so 
that he saw something of them every day. Neither 
of them proposed to go through the full college 
course. Martha, in fact, had no college then to which 
she could go. James Hart was intending to study 
medicine, so that he wished now to get knowledge 
enough of Latin and Greek to meet the requirements 
of his profession. He thought himself too old to 
take a collegiate course, having been hindered from 
it earlier by his father’s want of money. Even 


120 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


in large families a brother and sister seem often to 
be paired off. James and Martha Hart were so in* 
deed. He was very large, twenty-three years of age, 
had an upright, manly carriage, and a very pleasant, 
expressive face. His hair was dark and straight, 
and always cut short. His forehead broad, brow 
heavy, and his eye very black and lustrous. He 
had a singular native dignity, and always set his lips 
firmly, drew back his chin, and made the floor or 
ground feel his step as he trod. To accompany this 
manly manner there was a rich, deep, bass voice for 
use in speech and in song. His sister, two years 
his junior, was as near like him as she could be and 
be womanly. She was not beautiful, and she was 
not plain. You thought of neither beauty nor the 
want of it, when you saw or conversed with her. 
She was an accomplished, queenly woman. This 
couple, for they studied together, recited together, 
took walks together, went out of an evening to- 
gether, as much as if they had been betrothed, 
were a great addition to the academy ’ society. 
They were the basis of every social entertainment, 
because of their good mature sense and of their 
unselfish help. We can imagine how such strong, 
well-developed, characters, brought into daily con- 
tact with our Donald, served to strengthen and es- 
tablish him. James took great pains to teach Don- 
ald the art of study. Miss Martha quickly detected 
the faults in his spirit and the infirmity of his tem- 
per, and she exerted a gentle, sisterly, salutary in- 


THE ACADEMY— SECOND TERM. 


1 2 1 


fluence over him. To illustrate the happy provi- 
dence of the companionship of both of these young 
people, we will give two examples. 

Donald’s class began Greek this term, reciting to 
Mr. Euhart. Donald at first found it very tough 
work. New letters to learn, new and strange words 
to translate, there were so many modes , tenses , voices , 
and rules in the Greek Grammar, that Donald began 
to be quite discouraged and inclined to do as he did 
with home-work — see if he couldn’t save labor. He 
obtained for his Greek Reader what the students 
called a ‘‘pony ; ” it is a translation. He could read off 
glibly in recitation when he had written down from 
his “ pony ” the, meaning of the words between the 
lines. But he grew worse and worse when Mr. 
Euhart questioned him closely. His grammar be- 
came harder and harder to remember, and his reviews 
were growing worse every day. Mr. Euhart became 
worried concerning him, began to fear that he had 
not the necessary talent for a successful scholar, and 
even Donald himself was afraid that he had a fa- 
tally defective memory. 

One evening James Hart was sitting with Donald. 
They were going over a review-lesson together, 
when Donald asked: “How is it, Hart, that you 
remember this so much better than I do? I used 
to have a good memory, but in Greek I seem to 
have lost it. : ’ 

“ May I tell you* Donald, and won’t you take 
offence?’* 


122 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“ Of course not, Hart ! Let’s have a chapter of 
your wisdom.” 

Hart laughed and said, “ Not much wisdom, but 
you can have my frank opinion for what it is 
worth. ’ He took up Donald’s Greek Reader, and 
as he pointed to the interlining, he said : “ That’s 
what does it, Donald ! ” 

*How so, Hart? Does not the very act of writ- 
ing down the words impress them on the mind ? ” 

“ That may be, a little, but you take your ‘ pony,* 
write the meaning of the words on first sight, do not 
look at the several meanings in the dictionary and 
try them till you get the best ; then you do not 
charge your memory with the meaning to be sug- 
gested by the Greek words, but at recitation you 
just read your copied 4 pony.’ When I study my 
Greek, it brightens up my mind every time'; dif- 
ferent powers of my mind are set to work. When 
I trust my memory after going over my lesson 
once , and I find that it fails me, like the poor 
spider up there trying to catch the side wall, I 
try it over again; I go over the lesson twice or 
three times .’ 1 

Donald had got seriously behind ’ even George 
Lincoln, who was not nearly as bright naturally, 
was getting to be a better Greek scholar than Donald. 
He thanked James for his faithful talk, and began 
in good earnest to do better. By hard, close study 
he recovered the lost ground and before the end of 
the term was as familiar with the meaning of Greek 


THE ACADEMY — SECOND TERM. 


123 


words, and as skilful in the handling of Greek roots, 
as any member of his class. 

Now for Miss Hart’s influence, He loved to dis- 
cuss religion with her. She was clear-headed and 
patient, and took his vehemence and contradictions 
without any irritation or anger. She saw that, boy- 
like, he loved to hear himself talk, and had a large 
self-esteem. On one occasion he propounded a 
question of theology to her: “How is it. Miss 
Martha, that God can foreordain everything and yet 
let us do as we have a mind to ? ” 

She answered him, smiling: “That big question 
has troubled the world a good while. I’ll tell you, 
Donald, if you will take my prescription, you can 
some day answer it yourself better than I can. If 
I open the curtains and let in the sunlight, it will 
make my room light and warm , will it not, whether 
I can explain the nature of light or not?’* 

“ Seems to me, Miss Hart, you dodge my ques- 
tion ; but what is your prescription ? ” 

^ “You are to begin at Matthew, and read your 
Bible slowly , and pray every time you take it up for 
the Holy Spirit +0 help you understand it.” 

“ That seems good advice, Miss Hart ; but how 
can I pray till I believe in something to pray to ? 
Must I ask of nothing?” . 

“Yes; you must get all the light you can, and 
hold on to it. Try to look through the clouds, and 
by-and-by your eye will be made to pierce them. I 
don’t believe our Father leaves us long without 


124 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


glimpses of his glorious love. Donald,” she contin 
ues, smiling, “ did you never think what a wicked boy 
you are?” 

‘'No, I always thought I was about as good as 
other folks, except mother and Henry and—” He 
thought of Bessie Hale. His eyes filled with tears, 
and he left the room and the house for a walk by 
himself. . . . The next day he had occasion to see 
his old self with its peculiar deformity again. He 
stepped into the room of Holland and Harrison, 
across the way from his. Holland was studying at 
the table near the middle of the room, while Harri- 
son sat leaning back in his chair, with slippers and 
dressing-gown on, having his feet perched up on the 
sill of the open window. Now, Harrison did not like 
Donald very well. He, though much younger, was 
ahead of him in his studies, and he did not speak 
to the large, proud Harrison with the respect and 
courtesy that the latter thought he ought. Again, 
Miss Cogswell, to whom Harrison wished to be at- 
tentive, often by her tact brought in Donald as a 
third party, when Harrison wished but two to be 
present. He did not like him, and meant to let him 
know it at some time. 

When Donald saw Harrison in that tempting sit- 
uation, it was more than the fun-looking boy could 
do to resist the temptation to give him “a hoist,'* 
as Donald called it. So he brought his instep sud- 
denly against the chair-leg nearest him, and away 
Harrison went, chair, book, and all, tumbling sprawl- 


THE ACADEMY — SECOND TERM. 1 25 

ing upon the floor. He was up in a moment., in 
great anger, and sprang upon Donald, who was now 
near Holland’s table, and threw him down upon the 
floor and commenced jamming Donald’s nose and 
beating him angrily with his fist. Donald did not 
keep his temper: he become fiercely angry, and bit 
and scratched and fought with all his might. At 
last, Holland interfered, and took Harrison off. But 
as soon as Donald was on his feet, he seized the 
fallen chair, and with a fierce cry, struck at Harri- 
son. It was as much as Harrison could do to avoid 
his blows, and it took both students, grown men as 
they were, to restrain this boy, who was now nerved 
up to desperation in his wild passion. They did 
finally put him out of the room and lock the door 
against him. As the door closed in his face, Martha 
Hart, followed by her brother, was coming up the 
stairway, and saw him. She called out in surprise : 
“Why, Donald, what can be the matter!” With 
clothes dirty and torn, hair sadly rumpled, face 
bleeding and swollen, he was yet in the fury of his 
passion. It was a crazy spectacle that the angry 
boy presented. Miss Hart’s voice made him drop 
his hand, which was uplifted to strike a panel of the 
door, and he answered, between his teeth: “Matter 
enough ! I’ll get; square with the scoundrel yet.’ 1 

Hart led him away to his room, as the old reaction 
began to set in upon Donald. He tried to draw 
from him what had occurred; but nothing but spas- 
modic returns of the desperate temper resulted from 


126 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


this, so that he concluded to leave him for the time. 
His sister a little while after this, said she would go 
f ;o him Leaving open the door, already ajar, she 
stepped into his tidy room. He sat by his bedside, 
with his head buried in his pillow, sobbing. Martha 
said : “ Come, Donald, I wish to act a sister’s part to 
you. I see you have been hurt. Do come and 
bathe your face in this water ; it will make you 
better.” 

He rose mechanically, and did as she requested. 
She brought him his comb and brush, and his coat 
fora change, and said: “Donald, now fix yourself 
up as quickly as you can, and come and take a walk 
with me. James is going with Miss Cogswell. We 
four will go to the lake before dark.” This was her 
ruse. 

She left the room and made just this arrangement. 
Weak, half-blind, hardly yet himself, Donald, never- 
theless, did just as she told him. The four walked 
away, two and two, towards the beautiful Toffnom 
Lake, James and Miss Cogswell taking the lead. 
As they were walking along through a pleasant 
wooded pathway “ across lots,’ without much con- 
versation, a pretty bird flew up from the ground, 
perched upon a limb over their heads, and struck up 
his cheerful song. Both looked up. Miss Hart 
said, as she smiled down upon his upturned face, lor 
she was taller than he: “The bird is happy. ’ 

‘ Yes Miss Hart — he hasn t got a bad temper to 
worry him ’ ’ 


THE ACADEMY — SECOND TERM. 


127 


They then went on in silence for a few minutes, 
when Donald said “ How kind and thoughtful you 
and your brother are ! ” 

Miss Hart did not answer his compliment, but 
said, archly: “Did I not ask you ‘ Did you never 
think what a wicked boy you are ?’ ” 

“ Oh, yes, and I said, ‘ No, I thought I was as good 
as other folks.’ I don’t think so now. I’m ashamed 
of myself. I’ve given away to this temper many 
times before, and I don’t know what to do.” 

After a pause, Miss Hart asks: “ Donald, what 
would your mother say to you ?” 

“Oh, she always says: ‘Give your heart to the 
Lord, my son, and He will help you,' or something 
like that.” 

“Well, didn’t you try?” 

“Yes, I tried after I got ‘mad’ with George Lin- 
coln ; I tried to pray, and I asked George’s forgive- 
ness. After that seemed ’s though I wouldn’t be 
bad again ; but this old Harrison is so mean ! ” 

Miss Hart saw that the mention of Harrison 
stirred up his feelings, so that she turned their 
thoughts to other things. The young people pushed 
out a fisherman’s boat that was near the lake ; the 
young men poled the boat around in the shallow 
water for a little while, and then walked back. 

During the walk, while they were all near to- 
gether, James caught his foot under a small root and 
fell over upon his hands. All laughed, and James 
with the rest. 


128 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


Donald said, “That makes me think of Harrison’s 
tumble.” He then gave the party a gooel-natured 
account of his prank, by which Harrison was upset, 
and from which the quarrel and fighting began. 
Miss Hart laughed at his account, but said in a 
pleasant way, so that the others could not hear: 
“Who do you think was most to blame?” 

Donald did not answer for some time. Just be- 
fore they reached the house, he said: “I don’t see 
how I could go to Harrison a§ I did to George! 
Harrison don’t like me, and might speak cross." 

“Mayn’t / go for you, Donald, and tell him you 
are sorry you tipped him over?” 

“’Fraid I ain’t much sorry.” 

“Well, then, mayn’t I try to make you two 
friends?” 

“ Oh, yes ; I don’t lay up grudges.” 

The next day Miss Hart and Miss Cogswell were 
tossing “ grace hoops” in the front hall as Donald 
came back from reciting. They challenged him to 
join them. 

A few minutes later, Harrison entered the front 
door. Miss Hart kept Donald occupied while Miss 
Cogswell threw a hoop around Harrison sneclc. The 
young ladies were so active, and so wild for the fun, 
that in spite of the repugnance of the young men, 
they were not only detained, but drawn into play- 
ing together for some time As they stopped at the 
call of a dinner-bell. Miss Hart and Miss Cogsweil, 
doubtless by a preconcerted signal each seized the 


THE ACADEMY— SECOND TERM. 129 

hand of the opposite partner and put the two hands 
together, and said : “It's made up; befriends .” Har- 
rison said “All right.” Donald made no reply, but 
he looked pleased and happy, and pressed Harrison’s 
hand in a friendly way. 

As the young ladies entered Miss Cogswell’s 
dressing-room to smooth their ruffled feathers be- 
fore appearing at dinner, Miss Cogswell said : 
“ Blessed are the peacemakers.” 

“ Oh, yes, Mary, ‘ a stitch in time saves nine/ 
’Twas easier than I feared.” 

The term went along, every day being much like 
the preceding. Donald kept aloof from any gay 
parties during this period. He had this good, 
wholesome society at his boarding-house and he 
spent many hours with George Lincoln. They 
took long walks together, and conversed much as 
boys do at their age. George hardly thought he 
should go to college. His brother had been through, 
and had then studied law. George was not a re- 
ligious boy, had no taste for the ministry , and didn’t 
think he had patience enough for a doctor , but he 
did like the place of a prosperous merchant like his 
father. He guessed his father would take him in 
with him next year. 

Donald said he should keep on, if his father could 
pay the expenses. He didn’t know what he was good 
for. Sometimes he thought he was “some;” had 
talent; then it all seemed to run out like the water 
from a barrel with the bottom hoops off. “ I thirik 


130 DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 

the bottom hoops in my case are loose. They’re 
steady pluck and dig ; dig!' 

“ Oh, Donald, you’ve got pluck enough, and since 
you’ve tied up that ‘pony,’ I guess you’ve learned to 
dig, dig!' 

“ May be, for a little while, but I don’t like work. 
It is so nice to have great talent and do things easy! 
But I’m like foolish Willie Magdrib’s hair-lip man. 
He saw him going by, and called out, l Ma! ma J 
There goes Mr. Born-so ! ' I guess I’m ‘ Mr. Born-so .' " 

“Well, Don, if you get to be some great one, 
don’t forget your old friend.” 

With such self-accusings, Donald worried along. 
He did not more than half mean it. More can be 
drawn from the tone of boys while they are talking 
together than from their words — and really they 
can be better judged by the state of their hearts 
than by the acquirements of their heads. 

Donald, as we have seen, was really an ambitious 
boy. In a crowd, a stranger would have sought him 
from his face for a favor; but he had weaknesses 
and leanings that needed a strong and thorough 
corrective. George Lincoln was his counterpart. 
He looked upon life as something pleasure-giving, 
and he was bound to get the good of it as he went 
along. After the term closed the two returned to 
their homes, not to come back to Toffnom. 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE CLASSICAL SCHOOL AT MONRAY. 

D URING the winter of 18 — , Donald and Henry 
were very fortunate in having for the teacher 
of their district school Mr. Alpheus Silvey, a self- 
educated young man of remarkable scholarship. Don- 
ald was able under his instruction to complete his 
college preparation in mathematics — i. e. y besides 
his arithmetic, he masters six sections in Davies’ 
Algebra. He made good progress also in his Latin 
and Greek. Mr. Silvey was besides very precise 
and exacting with him in English Grammar. 

Henry gave his attention diligently to the common 
English branches of study, looking forward hope- 
fully to the time when he could succeed his brother 
in “fitting” for college. 

We will not follow the boys this winter step by 
step through their work and their play. It was the 
usual checkered life, with its bright days and its dark 
ones. .As he became older, Donald seemed to be 
getting the mastery over his temper, but new feat- 
ures of waywardness began to show themselves to 

I3i 


132 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


the watchful eye of his mother. One was a grow- 
ing inclination to scepticism, and a disposition to 
make exhibition of his rare ability at argument with 
members of churches on controverted points of re- 
ligious doctrine ; and another was that he was not 
very careful of the company he went into. He had 
an extreme delight in lively music, though he never 
cared much for dancing, so that he worried his 
father and mother by keeping very late hours, 
whenever there was a party in Grenville, far or 
near. Again, a pretty, girlish face and lovely figure 
would attract-him wonderfully, and Mrs. Woodward 
feared at times that she would surely be allied soon 
or late to some questionable family that she had al- 
ways endeavored to treat with proper condescension 
and well-regulated dignity and distance. 

Once his mother took him aside and gave him 
some good, solemn advice, which at the time his un- 
steady heart rather rebelled against. “ Donald,” she 
said, “y° un g as you are, I think I may warn you. 
I saw you too attentive to Jane Single , the other 
evening, at the little party here at our house. You 
probably wished just to amuse yourself at the time, 
but Jane didn’t think so. It meant more to her. 
You do not really wish, I believe, to pay her special 
attention, and would not deceive her. Yet she was 
deceived ; she was made very proud by what you 
said and did. Jane will not be the person for yon 
to visit. Her family is not the kind we will ever 
wish to unite with. Now, Donald, I want to say to 


THE CLASSICAL SCHOOL. 


133 


you, my son, that if there is any rock over which 
you will stumble it will be this.” 

“ Why, mother, I guess not ; your boy will be your 
boy anywhere. We oughtn’t to feel too big. Papa 
and Mr. Single are both farmers ; no sin, I think, to 
be poor.” 

“No, no, Donald, some things I want you to put 
off for some years. Then you’ll have better judg- 
ment. The joys and cares of a home of your own 
you will one day have. Haste or indiscretion in 
early youth has ruined men for life. Take your 
mother’s word, and you’ll be glad by-and-by.” 

Donald thinks this a good time to tell his mother 
of a new project of his, and so he suddenly changes 
the subject. 

“ Mother, Mr. Silvey, our teacher, says he thinks 
I am smart enough to make greater advance than 
I can at Toffnom, and probably get into college a 
year sooner. George Lincoln is not coming back 
there. Mr. Hart and his sister are going somewhere 
else, and I don’t like tliat Harrison, if Miss Hart 
did make him and me be friends. Mr. Euhart is a 
smart man and a good teacher, but he is always in a 
hurry. He is principal, and has everything to do.” 

“ What place does Mr. Silvey reommend ? ” asks 
Mrs. Woodward. 

“ He likes Mr. Willis’ Classical School at Monray. 
He says Toffnom is not the best, on the idea of 
* too many irons in the fire ’ there. Mr. Willis has 
three classes fitting for college — does nothing else.” 


134 DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 

“Well, I’ll talk with your father. Does it cost 
much? ” 

“No, mother. They have * commons,’ and so 
bring the board down and the tuition is not 
high.” .... 

The result of this conversation was that soon after 
the winter-school was over Donald was packed off to 
the seaport town of Monray. It was a small vil- 
lage about forty miles from Grenville. The Clas- 
sical School was situated near the centre of the vil- 
lage — a little back from the main street ; facing 
south, and abreast of the English Academy, per- 
haps a hundred yards from it. This arrangement 
afforded in front and between the buildings pleasant 
grounds for the games and exercise of the students. 
As soon as Donald and Parker drove into the village, 
about three o’clock, they sought out the hotel to 
put up their horse, get warm, and get something to 
eat. This was soon accomplished, when they in- 
quired the way to Mr. Willis’ house. It was at the 
west corner of the school-grounds, and near the 
road, Donald glanced at the students of the Clas- 
sical School, as they came out or went in, as he fol- 
lowed Parker through Mr. Willis’ gate and waited, 
after dropping the door-knocker. “ How nicely 
dressed they looked! How proud they appear! 
Wonder what they think of country folks!” were 
his thoughts. Mr. Willis came to the door himself. 
Parker being nearest and more attentive to the 
business in hand, says: “Is this Mr. Willis’ house?” 


THE CLASSICAL SCHOOL. 


135 


“Yes, I am Mr. Willis. What do you want?’' 

“ Farmer Wood’rd sent this *ere boy to y’r school, 
can ye ’commodate?” says Parker, in his usual brief 
and pointed manner. 

Donald then, having taken a look into the face of 
the pale, smileless, thin-lipped man before him, says, 
With no little diffidence and show of awe: “I’m 
Donald Woodward, from Grenville, and would like 
to finish my fitting for college at your school.” 

“Wait here a moment, young man, and I’ll speak 
to a student to show you a room. Will you go into 
th z 1 commons ” 

Hardly waiting for Donald’s assent, he stepped 
back to his study and returned with one whom 
he does not even introduce, but says: “ Charles , 
you will show this young student Room 1/}, and help 
him get started in the ‘ commons .’ Come to prayers 
to-morrow at eight, and I will give you further in, 
structions.” He turns away, walks into the hall, and 
closes the door without further ceremony. Parker 
shrugs his shoulders and says : “ Short enough, ain’t 
he ! ” and then he asks if Donald will have his trunk, 
bedding, and things to-night. Student “Charles” is 
very polite and pleasant : probably understood how 
miserable such cool receptions made a new student 
feel. “ Oh, yes,” he answers for Donald. “You’ve got 
a pleasanHroom — partially furnished. Mr. — what’s 
your name?” “Woodward.” “ Mr. Woodward, and 
I will go to the room if you will bring his things, 
sir,” speaking to Parker. On the second floor, just 


136 DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 

at the head of the stairs is Room 14. The door is 
open. What a little room ! Donald thinks ; about ten 
by twelve, with a shallow wood and clothes closet, 
besides having but one window ; the furniture is a 
three-quarter bedstead, a washstand, and' small 
looking-glass over it, a study-table, and a stove. The 
dirt the last student occupant left is still on the 
floor. Nobody but a boy of Donald’s age, like cir- 
cumstanced, can sympathize with his feelings. He 
is more than inclined, in homesickness and disgust 
at his new situation, to turn back, and look in again 
upon the cheerful Mrs. Cogswell, the tidy, comforta, 
ble room, and the courteous, good-hearted principal 
at Toffnom. But “ Charles ' ’ says: “ Never mind ap. 
pearances, Woodward, we’ll soon put things to 
rights.” He goes out, and returns in a minute 
with his broom. “You build a fire, Woodward, 
and I’ll sweep.” Such extra articles as were needed 
were obtained at “ the store,” and by dark Donald 
had a very passable room. Parker is allowed to 
stay with him over night, at his request, though 
u It’s not quite up to style for servingmen to be al- 
lowed in the ‘ commons,’ ” “ Charles” says. 

Down in the basement there is about this time 
a noisy ringing of a large-sized hand-bell. It echoes 
through the empty, uncarpeted halls loudly enough 
for all the students, even though they were napping, 
to hear. 

Then there is a quick slamming of doors, a ming- 
ling of voices, a tramping of many feet, and the 


THE CLASSICAL SCHOOL. 


137 


sound of rushing down the stairways. “ Charles ” 
says ; “ Come, let us go to supper.” 

The three in Fourteen then join the descending 
throng to the basement, and turn to the left into 
the “ commons dining-room.” A long table, with- 
out cloth; a meagre supply of table furniture; con- 
tinuous wooden benches, instead of chairs; bottles 
of molasses, instead of butter, with abundance of 
uncut loaves of bread ; a supply of cold meat, and 
pitchers of water, without sign of tea or coffee — all 
this Donald quickly takes in. One good-looking 
student, somewhat older than the rest, is at one end 
of the table, while all stand opposite their places as 
he touches a little bell; then he says, reverently: 
“ O Lord, bless us in partaking of this Thy bounty. 
Amen.” Quickly everybody has stepped over the 
bench, and sat down. All have glanced at the new 
student. He sits there, with his good, wholesome, 
ruddy face, peculiar gray suit, and diffident bearing, 
and has made already many friends. 

Parker says nothing, but he takes in everything 
at this strange place,* to tell the family at home. It 
is a rough place, this commons, but here young 
men learn how they can live economically. They 
acquire habits of independence, and find how to rise 
above present circumstances, fostering the spirit of 
present self-denial for the sake of future advantage. 
This may not be, is not a very well-settled principle 
or purpose in the young student’s mind who 
comes to the school for the first time ; but “ econ* 


138 DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 

omy,” “independence,” “self-denial,” would be the 
descriptive words of the trustees of the Monray 
Classical School, and these pregnant words would 
have a very pleasant echo in the hearts of fathers 
and guardians, who, like Farmer Woodward, had 
very limited means, and yet did wish to give their 
boys a liberal education . 

But that night, and for a week on, if poor Donald 
could have voiced his feelings, he would have 
quoted the proverb of the wise man : “ Give me 
neither poverty nor riches;” or, perhaps, better: 
* There is a happy mean between extremes.” But 
soon he is moulded to the situation. He forgets 
the size of his room, the bareness of the floor, the 
meagreness of the furniture, the poverty of the 
table-material, the straitness of the food-supply, 
and even the heartless make-up of Mr. Willis him- 
self, by an unusual eagerness for study. 

The next morning at eight precisely all the stu- 
dents, facing east, are sitting in rows behind contin- 
uous writing-desks. On a platform slightly raised, be- 
hind a table near the east window, sits Mr. Willis, 
facing them. As his hat is off, and he has opened 
the large Bible to read a psalm, he has his most ac- 
ceptable expression. His clothing never fits quite 
well. He must, after combing, always run his fin- 
gers at least twice through his thin, brown, slightly 
frosted hair. His pants are a little short at the 
ankles, and his shoes a little low, noticeably so, 
and his standing-collar lapped at one corner. He 


THE CLASSICAL SCHOOL. 


139 


has a good-sized, well-shaped head, a small keen, pen- 
etrating blue eye, pretty broad shoulders, and ample 
chest. Donald took a vacant seat, near the front 
for Mr. Willis’ students always begin .to file from the 
back side, leaving vacancies, if there are any, at the 
shorter range. 

Donald did not at first study Mr. Willis in this 
detail, boys seldom do that, but somehow he felt a 
sort of chill as he looked into Mr. Willis’ lace, and 
one that was not removed when his low, sharp voice 
appeared to reproach the school by reading the Ten 
Commandments from the 20th of Exodus. There 
was a slight relief in his prayers; for God-ward 
there was a perceptible emotion of reverence in 
this icy man. Do not let anybody get a wrong 
notion of Mr. Willis. He was a genius for train- 
ing boys, “ fitting them for college.” The keener 
the razor, the better you like it ; the more snowy 
the mountain, the more beautiful is it in the sun- 
light, and the more you enjoy looking at it. So 
with Mr. Willis — he was indeed a genius , grand for 
his uses. 

As soon as prayers afe over, the students retire ; 
one class remaining — the class first to graduate, and 
enter college in' six months. Donald sits still. 

Mr. Willis takes a look at the new boy; then says, 
“Your name in full, sir?” 

“ Donald Woodward.” 

“Your residence when at home? — Your age, 
sir?” 


140 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


My home is in Grenville, and my age is fourteen 
last October.” 

“ How nearly have you fitted for college?” 

“ I have read the Latin Reader, Virgil, and part 
of Cicero ; the Greek Reader, begun Homer, and 
been over six sections in Davies’ Algebra.” 

** If you have been thorough, you may by hard 
study catch up with this class. Here is a catalogue, 
with the studies arranged. Get your books, and be 
ready (if you will undertake it) with a lesson with 
the class to-morrow morning.” 

Donald’s ambition was stirred within him. He 
made up his mind to try, He got his books and 
began recitations with this class, which was reviewing 
Cicero’s Orations, and advancing in Homer’s Iliad. 
The most of the class were far ahead of him, and 
as they had been under Mr. Willis’ instruction, 
their knowledge of the grammar was much more 
nearly perfect. So Donald appeared at a disadvan- 
tage for some weeks. But he had pluck, health, and 
ability. He submitted to the cool, neither kind nor 
unkind, but most searching and complete criticisms 
upon his translations and recitations. There was then 
one student, a brother to his first student-acquaint- 
ance at the school, whoirrMr. Willis called “ Charles.” 
The brother’s name was Robert — Robert Rathbun. 
He was singular. Already of age (twenty-one), his 
very broad and high forehead, deep-set, large black 
eyes, short, black, straggling hair, and rising and 
falling gait as he walked, made him a marked man. 


THE CLASSICAL SCHOOL 


141 

He hardly ever spoke to anybody; did not even 
room with his brother, but always alone He had a 
4 standing desk , ’ seldom took any physical exercise, 
and then usually by a walk that was nearly equal to 
a run. It was study . study, study early and late, and 
all the day, when not reciting. “ He had done two 
years’ work in one,” everybody said. . s . Robert 
Rathbun hardly noticed the gray-suited country 
boy, but Donald noticed him, and imitated him in 
his way of pushing on — especially during his second 
term.. 

This year Donald did not take the long summer va- 
cation and help the folks at home, but only rested for 
two weeks, which allowed of but few days among his 
friends at Grenville. To his mother he appeard 
very much improved, only a little too sombre for a 
boy of his age. 

She asked him, the first time she saw him alone 
“ Have you conquered your quick temper Donald? ' 

“I don’t know, mother. Mr. Willis tries me* I 
feel indignant and rebellious at his quiet, cutting 
talk, but it don’t stir me and make me wild, like ' Lish 
Savage and that mean Harrison. Once Charles 
Rathbun sneered at me, and I got mad and pitched 
him down the stairway ; but he kept out of my way 
then, and I soon was over my ‘ mad " 

“ I do wish, Donald, you could become a Chris- 
tian — a true Christian — then you would learn how 
to bear crosses better.” 

*' I’m working very hard to get into college now, 


142 DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 

I haven t played ball, gone swimming, nor on rides 
with the boys ; I haven’t read newspapers nor books, 
but just buckled down to study — real hard study. 
We’ve the greatest student you ever saw, Robert 
Rathbun. I wrote you about him. He stands up 
and studies. He reads a whole book of Virgil in a 
day I can't study so many hours as he does, but I 
am bound to enter college next fall ; and I have imi- 
tated him. He never eats more than half what he 
craves.” 

'I m afraid, Donald, that won’t do for you, for 
you are growing and you must eat enough.” 

“ I guess you needn’t fear for that ; I can’t keep 
my thoughts about me when I’m real hungry. Be- 
fore I know it I have eaten as much as I want.” 

During this short vacation the people are to have 
a “ temperance celebration ” on “The Cape.” This 
cape is a fine strip of meadow land, extending into, 
the Podham Lake, bordered with shady trees and 
grassy banks, and having an occasional open grove 
of oaks, just the place for summer parties, such as 
picnics and the like. 

'‘Oh, I'm real glad it happens so, Don,” says 
Henry, “you’re home and can go to our ‘Temper- 
ance Celebration ’ ! ” 

‘Why, do you belong, Hal?” 

“Of course, I do, we’ve a ‘Temperance Army* 
formed in our Sunday-school and I am the Captain . 
We’ve nice banners, and pretty pledges with pic- 
tures on ’em.” 


THE CLASSICAL SCHOOL. 


143 


“ When will it come off, Henry?” 

“Oh, next Friday — that’s to-morrow, ain't it? 
The Sons ’ll be there. The grand something. Doctor 
Lindman, runs it all; he wants you. Donald, to 
make a ‘ temperance speech .’ Won’t you ? ” 

“ May be, Henry, if I can think of something fit 
to say.” 

The next day Mrs. Woodward went with her boys 
to the “temperance celebration.” The people in 
wagons had come together, far and near, bringing 
children and well-filled baskets. The Doctor had 
caused to be constructed a platform and benches 
enough for a hundred people at a choice, shady 
place in the grove, and was there with his family 
among the first, to welcome the comers. The minis- 
ter, Mr. Nelson, an Englishman, who, in spite of his 
efforts to the contrary, would occasionally drop his 
tis or put Ji s on where there were none, was also 
early on the ground. He had the special care of 
Henry’s Army. By eleven o’clock the company was 
all arranged. It was a gay, happy scene then in the 
oak grove on the Cape. See the beautiful trees 
above ; the carpet of grass below ; the quiet water 
of the lake near by; the wagons, adorned here and 
there with gay shawls, located far and near with the 
utmost irregularity. The busy horses near the 
wheels, feeding out as far as the rein or halter of 
each would allow, are really like the outposts to an 
army. 

On the stand are the Doctor, the minister, some 


144 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


singers, and our Donald, whom the Doctor has 
specially invited to an honorable seat. The little 
Temperance Army occupies the first and second 
benches. It is composed of boys and girls. Henry 
sits on the right of the front line, and holds the 
white banner that waves above his head, with the 
words, “Temperance Army,” and “Touch not!” 
“Taste not!” Handle not ! ’ printed on it. 

Behind the children — the happy, restless, chatting, 
sparkling children — comes a division of the Sons of 
Temperance, composed of men and women, with 
white, broad, hanging collars crowning their necks. 
The rest of the seats, with a fringe and backing of 
standing people, hold the uninitiated lookers-on. 

First, a short prayer by Mr. Nelson; then a tem- 
perance song by the singers on the stand, all joining 
in the lively chorus; then a jolly speech from Dr. 
Lindman on the wonderful properties of cold water, 
properly applied* to prevent or cure drunkenness. 
Now the minister tells his experience with rum ; 
how it came near destroying him ; how dyspeptic, 
diseased, and miserable he became, by “ moderate 
drinking;” how he was finally converted to tem- 
perance, and he said: “Tell you y ow it was, children ; 
my flesh was renewed, and soon h’appeared h’again 
like the flesh of a little child.” 

Dr Lindman, after another song, rose and said : 
“We have now the best of the feast, for our young 
friend brings us from abroad better fruits than we 
can raise at home.” 


THE CLASSICAL SCHOOL. 145 

Donald rose and said a few words: “I have en- 
joyed this meeting, and feel proud to be here. I 
like Henry’s banner, and have made up my mind 
* to touch not, taste not, handle not,’ anything that 
makes men drunk. Some drunken fellows did a 
mean thing at Weaverton and made folks think 1 
was with them when they did it, and I was dread- 
fully ashamed. I would not go with them again. 
At brigade muster, I saw a fine-looking young man, 
with good clothes, dead drunk; another acting 
like a natural born fool for other people to laugh at, 
and another poor old man so drunk that he imag- 
ined he was killed when a fire-cracker went off. I’ve 
made up my mind not to be made by rum stupid 
like a dead man, silly like a monkey, nor crazy like 
a loon.” 

Donald received great applause, as all cheered and 
clapped their hands. This was the first time Don- 
ald had taken a stand for temperance. After they 
got home that night, Henry presented one of his 
pledges, which Donald signed, and thus became a 
soldier in Henry’s Army. 


CHAPTER XII. 


CLASSICAL SCHOOL AT MONRAY, CONTINUED — IN- 
CIDENTS. 

A FTER Donald’s return to Monray, very little 
occurred to give the common relief of variety 
to his now monotonous life. He was still intent on 
entering college at the September term. He studied 
hard, sometimes sitting up till eleven and twelve 
o’clock, and then getting up at four and five o’clock 
in the morning. It is not wonderful that he became 
a little dull and heavy in his manner, and it is 
wonderful that he did not become too sick to keep 
on. He hardly had a speaking acquaintance with 
the young people at the English Department, and 
avoided altogether the society of the young ladies 
who went there. 

There were a few of his own school with whom 
he became on intimate terms. One was a son of a 
prominent lawyer, by the name of Macomber. His 
son, Andrew , vras a grand scholar. He read Latin 
with ease and elegance. Andrew took a fancy to 
Donald, who was only about six months his junior in 
146 


CLASSICAL SCHOOL — INCIDENTS. 


147 


years and as the “ commons ” were crowded so that 
there had to be two in each, Andrew and Donald after 
the vacation occupied the same room. It was in 
the southeast corner of the same floor as before., 
but a pleasanter room, having two windows. 

Donald had another friend, who never in schooling 
got beyond this institution. The students called 
him “Fatty,” and “ Fatty Jones.” Donald, a few 
times, had walked to the seashore with him, to go 
in swimming. “ Fatty” was remarkable for swim- 
ming. He could just lie down on the water and 
roll over and paddle around without sinking. He 
was so fat and puffy that he could not make much 
headway. Donald was a good swimmer, went ahead 
fast while he was in the water, but could not keep 
the business long at a time. One day, one of 
the students, a beginner at swimming, ventured out 
a little too far, and lost his footing and went under. 
Donald, having left the water, saw him sink. He 
rushed in at once, and swam quickly to the young 
man, who in terror seized Donald by the arm with a 
fearful gripe. Donald couldn’t swim with this load, 
and was dragged under more than once. He strug- 
gled hard, but in vain, against the current that was 
setting towards deeper water, and tried to shake off 
the drowning student’s hold, screaming to ‘Fatty 
Jones” for help. “ Fatty” paddled np to the terri- 
fied pair. “Take hold of my foot, Woodward, and 
I’ll tow you ashore,” says “ Fatty,” sticking his foot 
out of water. Donald seized it with his loose hand, 


148 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


and then helped by kicking as hard as he could. 
They soon got to shoal water, and carried the student 
up on the bank. He could not stand on his feet at 
first . he had drawn in too much water into his nose 
and mouth. But the young men rolled him and 
rubbed him till he came to himself. So Donald 
saved the student, and “ Fatty'’ Jones saved Donald, 
Donald ever after felt grateful and most friendly to 
“ Fatty.” 

During this term Donald’s “ temperance principles ' # 
were brought in play in a remarkable manner. His 
temperance speech and subsequent pledge to Henry 
served him a good turn. For, when he was pressed 
to drink by any of his schoolmates, he said : “ No, I 
thank you, I am on a pledge.** As to his class- 
mates, when they came to the general review, they 
felt so confident that they had mastered the “course 
of study preparatory to college,” that they spent but 
little time on their lessons, and as idle brains are apt 
to plot mischief, several of them planned rides and 
drives by night to neighboring towns. The large 
village of Dalport, some ten miles distant, afforded 
many facilities for keen enjoyment to our young 
men. There was the hotel, where fine suppers could 
be had, the theatre, saloons, and sundry haunts of 
vice that could be visited by them, leaving Monray 
after nine and returning before daylight in the morn- 
ing. One of these youths was the son of a rich man, 
and was allowed all the money that he desired, and 
he was very liberal in treating his favorites to any of 


CLASSICAL SCHOOL — INCIDENTS. 


I49 


these illicit pleasures, in which, of course, he partici- 
pated. Andrew Macomber, already grown, hearty, 
strong, full of the blood and carelessness of youth, 
went into these gay frolics with enthusiasm. 

They had join them a student of the English De- 
partment, a young Frenchman, a rout, of pale com- 
plexion and very brilliant eyes, who excited the ad- 
miration of all the smokers by being able to smoke 
nearly all the time and to puff the delicious clouds 
through his nostrils. The young Frenchman was 
au fait at every improper indulgence, and enlivened 
the party by stories of his own adventures and 
wicked pranks, never seeming to have the least 
twinge of conscience to restrain him. One of the 
stablemen kept the students’ secret, and furnished a 
carriage large enough to take the convivial party to- 
gether. Saturday night was usually chosen, so 
that no sleepiness or unusual stupidity at the morn- 
ing lesson should betray them. 

Andrew said to Donald one Saturday, “ Come, 
Woodward, you are working mighty hard ; better 
treat yourself to-night to a ride. We are going to 
have a team and ride over to Dalport on a ‘ time.’ 
We shall be back before daylight. The Frenchman 
and Atkins” (the rich young man) “ are going to 
give a wine-supper at Mrs. Judkins’ Hotel. Come, 
will you go?” 

“ No, Andrew. I shall have to study very hard to 
finish my ‘fit’ before fall and so can’t let anytime 
run to waste. I am on a pledge to my little 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


150 

brother not to drink any wine or strong drink, and 
could not join in your spree if I went. And if I 
wasn’t on a pledge, my father is not a rich man, and 
he cannot afford to let me have money for such 
‘ times.’ ” 

“ What an old-man-before-his-time you are, Wood- 
ward. The boys ’ll think you’re stingy. What ’ll 
your little brother know or care about your keeping 
a pledge? and as to the money, these rich ones never 
mind the expense. My old man growls awfully at 
my bills, but I notice he always pays them.” 

“Well, Andrew, I don’t like to displease you, 
but I shall not go. It isn’t right, either ; it breaks 
the rules of the school ! ” 

“You’re a great sticker, Don. It’s a pleasure to 
me to break one of old Willis’ rules on the sly. He’s 
no heart.” 

“ I tell you what, Andrew. I’ve had trouble 
enough at Weaverton for doing wrong, and when I 
know it I’m not going into it with my eyes wide 
open.” 

“Ain’t you a chicken? Guess I’ll recite my Sun- 
day-school lesson to you, Woodward,” said Andrew, 
with a mocking kind of a laugh as he stood by his 
half-open door. 

Donald’s temper was rising. He never could en- 
dure a sneering, jeering speech. Seeing him spring 
to his feet, Andrew slammed the door and ran off 
down the stairs, laughing and singing a rollicking 
song. 


CLASSICAL SCHOOL— INCIDENTS. 1 5 1 

Donald did not see any more of Andrew till the 
next morning about dawn; he was aroused from 
sleep by a heavy knocking at his door. He got up, 
and in came Andrew, hardly able to stand on his 
feet, scolding crossly and immoderately because 
Donald had kept him waiting. He lay down on the 
outside of his bed, begged Donald to bring the slop- 
pail, for somehow that old stage had made him feel 
sick. “Awful sick, Woodie !- Oh, such a time, such — 
fun!’’ Wasn’t Donald glad that he did not go! 

These drives and sprees were quite frequent before 
the college examination came off, the last week in 
August: and Donald gained rapidly in his studies 
upon the revellers. Mr. Willis commended him for 
his fidelity and industry, and stepped out of his 
usual course to give him a letter of recommendation 
to one of the college professors. 

The good time so long anticipated came at last. 
The last searching examination at Monray School 
was ended. The next morning the graduating class 
was to start for Nyoton College. It was situated 
near a pretty village of the same name, about twenty 
miles from Monray. There were no railways then, 
as now, connecting the two towns, so that our stu- 
dents went either by stage or by private conveyance. 
Andrew proposed to Donald to hire a chaise from 
the livery stable, go over in that, be examined, and 
then return in the same way. “ It will not cost much 
more than the fare for us both over and back on the 
stage, and it will be nicer.” 


152 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“We’ll go that way, if you say so, Andrew.” 

They had a very pleasant ride. Andrew was good 
company when he chose to be, could tell a good 
story, and a good many of them. And our Donald 
was not behind him in either telling stories or singing 
lively songs. So they talked and they sang, and the 
distance seemed very short when they came in sight 
of the Potsville Tavern. It was called the “half- 
way house.” Here travellers usually stopped to 
water their horses at the well-filled trough, and 
those that were habituated to it stepped in at the 
bar of the tavern, and took their drinks. Andrew 
began upon Donald as soon as the old swinging, 
creaking tavern-sign came in view, and reminded 
him of the comforts so near at hand. 

“Now, Donald Woodward, you are an ambitious 
young man, not particularly religious, for you get 
mad as a hatter when you choose, and I’ve seen you 
read books in church and do sundry things that our 
parson don’t excuse. Do you really expect to go 
through the world, and be anybody, without drink- 
ing an occasional glass of wine?” 

“Yes, Andrew. I know I’m bad enough ; wine and 
whiskey wouldn’t make me any better.” 

“Why, our Senator drinks, Daniel Webster drinks, 
and Henry Clay uses strong drink; and it’s my 
opinion that men who take weak drinks are sort of 
mean and narrow, and never do come to much" 

“Can’t help it, Andrew; I don’t expect to be a 
great man, and I don’t believe wine would make me 
one.” 


CLASSICAL SCHOOL — INCIDENTS. 15$ 

* Well, now, Woodward, there’s a good fellow — 
just drink with me this time? It don’t look well to 
drink alone.” 

Donald was much tempted, but he said, kindly: 

“No, no, Andrew; my word is given, and I must 
not go near the bar.” 

Andrew Macomber stepped into the tavern and 
for the first time in his life took a glass of whiskey 
by himself, then lighted a cigar, and rejoined Don- 
ald, who was watching the horse as he drank the 
clear water at the trough. 

No other incident occurred worthy of record till 
the journey was accomplished. The young men 
put up their horse at the stable of the Emmet 
House, ate a hearty dinner, and then proceeded to 
the college-grounds. A messenger asked their busi- 
ness, and told them : “ The examination of candi- 

dates was already going on, in a back room of the 
Chemical Academy.” 

Professor Dooly, a large, dignified-looking man, 
with spectacles before his eyes that one could not 
see through from the outside, presented himself at 
the door, as the messenger that our young men had 
sent in returned. He spoke to the trembling stu- 
dents with formal dignity, ascertained their business 
(which he knew, of course, at a glance), and then 
conducted them through dark laboratories and empty 
lecture-rooms to the place where the President and 
two other Professors were conducting the examina- 
tion of other young men. They were formally intro- 


154 


DONALD S SCHOOL DAYS. 


duced to the President of the college, and assigned 
to seats to wait their turn. 

One may visit the Governor of a State, the mem- 
bers of an Assembly, the Representatives or Sena 
tors in Congress assembled, and never be troubled 
with the sense of awe that came over Donald in the 
presence of this College Faculty. “ How could he 
remember anything?” The curious, dimly-lighted 
room, filled with medical and chemical lumber; un- 
heard-of retorts and crucibles ; jars and bottles of 
different colors and shapes ; here and there skele- 
tons, skulls of men — these, and such things, seen foi 
the first time, made their sombre impression, and 
doubtless helped on the natural diffidence of the 
youth. 

Yet he and Andrew sat some time, and soon 
were absorbed in listening to the questions of 
the professors, and the answers of the other can- 
didates. 

Their turn came. Andrew recited first. He 
boldly and glibly went through the reading of a 
portion of Cicero, but he failed on explaining 
the grammatical construction. Now Donald, with 
his heart beating, his face burning, and his hands 
trembling, received a Virgil from Professor Dooly, 
who, with a dignified smile, a little askew and not 
over-friendly, says: '‘Read from the second book 
of the yEneid, commencing with the second page — 
translate.” Donald is glad, for he knows that well 
He reads right off. “ Very well, sir; now scan, young 


CLASSICAL SCHOOL — INCIDENTS. 1 55 

man.” Donald couldn’t scan well. He tried, but 
broke down. 

On the whole, our lads did pretty well. They 
were tested in different places in their several books 
of Latin and Greek; finally, in algebra by the mathe- 
matical professor; Donald missed more in the gram- 
mars than in anything else. He was quite anxious 
that night. He was requested by an old acquaint- 
ance from Grenville, a student in the Sophomore 
class, to stay with him for the night. The student 
cheered him : “ They’ll let you in. They always 
give something to make up. You need not mind 
that. You’ll have plenty of time.” Donald slept 
on his friend’s lounge. He was restless, and toward 
morning he had quite a significant dream. He 
dreamed that he was among the dead, saw rattling 
skeletons, and all sorts of shapes; somehow his 
examination wa 9 mixed up with the horrid figures, 
when Professor Dooly, with fleshless fingers and 
sardonic smile, appeared and gave him a piece of 
paper folded. Unfolding, he read: “Don’t try to 
do two years’ work in one; go back to Monray 
School, and try again ! ” Donald waked at this, and 
did not sleep any more. He breakfasted with the 
friendly Sophomore, and was introduced to a number 
of fine-looking students. Their eyes twinkled with 
fun, rather more than he liked to see, as they spoke 
to him and took his hand. At eight o’clock he was 
relieved by receiving a true ticket of admission, 
with: “ Make up the Latin and Greek Grammar s,*' 


i 5 6 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


written on its face. So, to his hearty joy, he is at 
last admitted to all the privileges of Nyoton College. 
Andrew Macomber is given the Greek grammar and 
mathematics to make up. 

The young men return to Monray light-hearted. 
Mr. Woodward has already arrived to take Donald 
home for a week prior to entering upon his fall’term 
in the college. ... 

When he makes his appearance at the farm-house, 
how glad Mrs. Woodward is to see him and con- 
gratulate him on his wonderful success, and indeed 
it is not a little thing for a young man to gratify so 
good, so self-denying a mother, by well-doing, by ac- 
complishing what she has very much set her heart 
upon. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


NYOTON COLLEGE. 

T HE first Wednesday in September finds Donald 
Woodward in his place among the Freshmen of 
Nyoton College. His father has come with him to 
this famous seat of learning, to see to all the neces- 
sary arrangements in the way of outfit. His room 
is in the south end of the North College, on the 
second floor, back room. It is large indeed, com- 
pared with his room at Monray; has a good bed- 
room and wood-closet. It is nicely papered ; has 
two windows looking out upon the beautiful col- 
lege-grounds toward the west ; but, as Donald and 
his father soon ascertain, he must furnish it himself. 
There is at the same time another Freshman from a 
town neighboring to Grenville with his father 
searching for a room. They encounter Mr. Wood- 
ward and Donald as they are coming out from 
Twenty-eight, for this is the number assigned to 
Donald. 

“ How do you do, Mr. Woodward ? ” sounds a fa- 
miliar voice. 

“ Why, Mr. Yardley, are you here?” 


157 


i 5 8 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“ Well, I heard you had a son ready for college. I 
have had to keep my boy here at home for the last 
year, on account of a cough, but he thinks he is 
able to go on now with the new class.” Mr. Yard- 
ley and Mr. Woodward had shaken hands while the 
former had been delivering this speech. “ My son 
SamueL Mr. Woodward. This, I suppose, is also 
Mr. Woodward?” 

“Yes, Mr. Yardley, I am glad to have my Donald 
know you and your son.” 

The young men, being thus introduced, shake 
hands cordially, each pleased to have an acquaint- 
ance in the new place. Donald had heard of Sam 
Yardley. Their mothers had been early friends, so 
that it did not take them long to understand each 
other. 

“Where are you going to room, Mr. Yardley?” 

He was a year or two older than Donald ; hence 
the show of respect. 

“ Oh, I don’t know yet ; father and I are looking 
for the unchosen rooms.” 

“You might come in with me; look in at Twenty- 
eight.” (They step in and take a survey.) “ Isn’t 
it a nice one ? ” 

“What say, father, couldn’t Woodward and I 
hitch our horses together?” 

They look towards Donald’s father, who says : 
J Just the thing i 19 

Samuel Yardley says : “ My cousin, Mr. Dleifhinch, 
who graduated this year, has not sold his books or 


NYOTON COLLEGE. 


59 


furniture, and he is here now to sell them. He told 
me I could have all I wanted at a very low figure.” 

All four went immediately to find this graduate 
and his furniture. The bargain was soon struck for 
carpet and all other needful things. 

“Boys don’t need carpets at school?” says Farmer 
Woodward, inquiringly 

“ Of course, it s nonsense, Mr. Woodward/' says 
Mr. Yardley, “but when at Rome do as Rome does. 
Other lads have carpets, and our boys had better 
follow suit.” 

“It’s the way with boys,” says Mr Woodward, 
good-naturedly: “but I don’t like the principle 
much. Might lead these youngsters into wrong 
ways.” 

“Of course, of course,” answers Mr. Yardley. 
“If we fix them out well, they must do right." 

Donald thinks and remarks : “ The carpet will save 
noise and save fuel, and be a positive economy.” 
Samuel laughs at his ready wit, and all agree to 
buy it. 

In this careful way the articles are gone through 
with, and all where there is a united judgment in 
favor are taken, and the remainder of Dleifhinch’s 
articles of books and furniture are left for other 
sale. Before night No. 28 is pretty well fitted up, 
stove in place, carpet down, bed in order, wood in 
closet, etc., etc. The two fathers take their leave, 
and , the young men have become companions and 
now bear all the marks of college students as they 


i6o 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


lock their door and saunter out together to find 
their “club!” A college “ club-house,” as every- 
body knows, is not like other “club-houses.” It is 
not that universally known place of luxury, fitted 
up for epicurean entertainments, where loungers, 
idlers, and sportsmen do congregate ; but the house 
or part of a house where a few young college stu- 
dents agree to live .in commons. These students 
constitute the club. They choose a steward from 
their number, who rents the house, employs the 
family to run their machine, makes all the needed 
purchases, and keeps the accounts. By this arrange- 
ment the board in 1850 was easily brought down 
within the limits of ninety cents to one dollar and 
ten cents per week. By the invitation of Donald’s 
Sophomore acquaintance he was to join his “ club.’ 1 
Donald takes the liberty of taking Yardley to the 
same club, hoping that there may be an opening too 
for him. The young men are both welcomed to the 
long table which almost fills the little dining-room. 
By the graduating class this company, called the 
* Sorghum Club,” had lost two “ men ” ( college 
students are always called men, without regard to 
size or age). Yardley and Woodward filled the va- 
cancies, and made their number complete, arranged 
five on each side and one at each end of the long 
table 

Our Sophomore from Grenville was a little remark- 
able. Yardley and Woodward both took much no- 
tice of him, for the reason that he took much notice 


NYOTON COLLEGE. 


161 


of them. He sat in the middle, near the tea-tray 
He rose as the young men came in, and recognized 
Donald, shaking his hand cordially, and was then in- 
troduced to Yardley. He showed them to the 
Seniors’ vacant seats, and then sat down. In a 
natural but impressive way he asked a blessing, and 
then began to pour and distribute the tea. What a 
remarkable face he has ; a broad mouth : a closely- 
shaven chin, but one black with a would-be-thick 
and irrepressible beard ; a low forehead, yet broad 
and arched with a heavy brow, and underneath 
good-sized dark-brown eyes : the whole head crowned 
with very thick, very coarse, and quite gray hair. 
His body was short, and when he stood up had a 
slight forward inclination, indicating a curious hum- 
bleness, of which he might be just a little proud. 
His smile was the best exponent. It suffused his 
face and neck with light ; it was womanly in 
sweetness, benignant, supplicating protecting, or re- 
proving, according to the will that put it forth, 
and according to the occasion that modified it and 
drew it out. Everybody said that Henry Haviland 
Poor — now only twenty-three years old — model 
Christian, model gentleman, model man, as he 
really was, ought to have been a woman. There 
was an effeminate softness in his voice, and such 
gentleness in his manner that Donald ached at 
times to provoke him, to see if on the anvil of angei 
he could start some sparks of the masculine; but 
provocation and mischief were rebuked and sub- 


62 


DONALD’S SCHOOL -DAYS. 


dued from every quarter by increased sweetness 
of temper that made the encroachers ashamed of 
their naughtiness. 

This singular young man gave the tone to the club. 
Here gentle manners prevailed. Rough country 
boys learned to use their napkins, and if they did 
not abandon all gross habits, like that of eating with 
their knife-blades, they did learn to treat each other 
with attention and becoming respect, so that this 
club became remarkable for the habitual propriety 
and good conduct of its members. It is not easy 
to estimate the influence of boarding-places upon 
tl\e life and character of students. The two hours 
spent at the “ club ‘ table daily become a perpetual 
review of things to be remembered and a perpetual 
promoter of the harmonies or the discords of college 
life. Henry Haviland Poor left his gentle stamp 
upon every member of his club. Each respected his 
wishes, nay, loved him, and learned where the path- 
way of a true philosophy lay, and often were induced 
by his beautiful, never- neglected persuasions to enter 
upon it, yet nobody wanted to be just like him. 
• For really,” Donald said, in private, to Yardley, 
4 1 don’t want to be a womanly man nor a manly 
woman.” 

The next morning was to be the first at the chapel 
exercise. Our young men are up bright and early. 
Donald is inclined to put the room to rights, but 
Yardley, who was here awhile a year before, and has, 
as he declares, learned the ropes, says : u . They have 


NYOTON COLLEGE. 


163 

searched the world over to find squint-eyed, lantern 
jawed, horrid women to take care of our rooms. 
It’s a mercy to be ‘ out ' when they come, and its 
no charity to kick up a dust and take their work 
from ’em ! Woodward, we’ll have a time of it at 
prayers this morning,' when we come out * v 

“ Why, Yardley?” 

“Gall me Sam , and I’ll call you Don. It’s too 
stiff-like to say Woodward and Yardley, though 
that’s the firm.” 

“Well, Sam, what’s the matter with prayers?” 

“ The prayers are all right ; but the * Sophs' al- 
ways have to initiate the Freshmen. The first 
thing they do is to ‘ hold them in ’ at prayers.” 

The chapel bell began to ring. Many of the 
Freshmen, as yet unused to the routine, under- 
standing they must go to prayers at the sound of the 
bell, immediately go to the chapel; Sophomore 
heads appear at various windows: “That’s right, 
boys ! ” “Early birds catch the worms ! ’ “ Say, Fresh 
hurry up, that bell may stop!” and other remarks 
of the kind, born of mischief. It is wonderful that 
heads can pop out, hurl their squibs, and pop in again, 
and no professor or tutor ever see them, isn’t it? 

Yardley’s little experience of a year before was 
invaluable to help Donald escape the fun-looking 
railers. 

The janitor showed the Freshmen their seats 
near the door. Sophomores take the next rows of 
seats, right and left of the main aisle, which goes 


164 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


straight to the high prayer-desk; Juniors next, and 
the Seniors, last to come in, with tall hats, canes 
and many spectacles, arrange themselves with quiet 
dignity near the desk. Professor Dooly is there. 
The Freshmen get one good steady survey from be- 
hind his glasses. The Sophomores, never better 
behaved, receive a single glance while their monitor 
is counting them : beneath the Professor’s specta- 
cles is that dreadful, sardonic smile of his, which 
now means: “Look out, young men, for breakers! * 
or, “ If you dare!” Henry Haviland Poor trembles 
for his class. He is humbler and gentler than ever, 
but he sits well front, so as to be out soon and not 
be involved in the mischief. 

The few words of Holy Writ are read with proper 
depth and sonorous clearness, in which appears the 
expression, wonderfully emphasized, “The wicked 
shall not go unpunished.” The prayer is offered. 
When the last words begin to come in. “ Bless our 
friends and relatives, and all our fellow-men, for the 
Redeemer’s sake, Amen,” there is a slight rustle; 
hats and canes are taken at “ All our fellow-men,” 
and “Amen” brings every Senior to his feet. And 
then the column is in elastic but quiet motion 
toward the door. The Juniors follow. Henry Havi- 
land Poor, with two or three^af the* Sorghum Club/' 
whom he has persuaded <0 do right at all hazard 
crowd up close to the Juniors. But lo. when four 
broad-shouldered deep-chested, muscular Sopho- 
mores reach the hall, they begir to “ slow down ; w 


NYOTON COLLEGE. 


I6 5 


and at the outer double door made broad enough 
on purpose to preven: clogging, hands go up against 
the jambs on both sides A sort of horizontal arch- 
way, with keystone toward the inner door, is made 
of living human bodies. Closer and closer the 
quiet, moving mass of Sophomores pack themselves. 
The small hall is full, and all the Freshmen and the 
'Professor are kept back within the chapel. They 
might get out through the windows, but the most 
have expected to go out through those doors, and 
are now packed like the cattle in a stock-boat, and it 
is hard for them to get anywhere. Besides, many 
of the Freshmen have already been developing 
that thing that men call “ esprit de corps" students 
call it * class feeling " They are ambitious to excel, 
“to whip so they push and pull. A few ambitious 
Freshmen jump upon the shoulders of others, and 
scramble over the heads of the choked throng. 
There is scratching, there is biting, there is swearing, 
and some screaming. Just as the ambitious scram- 
blers are rolling out the outer door on hands and 
feet, the stout, broad-shouldered men let go the 
jambs of the double doorway, and out shoots the 
lively crowd, like people from a hall on fire, like 
children from a school let out, with the intense ex- 
citement of the former and the topsy-turvy tumb- 
ling of the latter. The row is over at last, and the 
several classes are gathered into their respective reci- 
tation-rooms. 

Yardley laughs aloud, as he regains his soiled and 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


1 66 

shapeless hat, and rubs his bruised knee. Donald 
couldn t see the fun, and was angry enough, his old 
temper rising up to make his throat choke and the 
tears of vexation flow, as he went with bare head and 
torn coat to his first college recitation. He declared : 
“ 1 11 get even with the scamps somehow ! ” 

They were not long detained this morning, only 
for lessons. The recitation-room itself had an inter- 
est to Donald. There was a banquette, a kind of 
wide step, around three sides of the room (the room 
was on the lower floor of North Hall), and a wall- 
seat upon the step of the same extent. The teach- 
er’s desk was a .sort of box affair, painted a dark- 
red, with an inclined table on one side, situated on 
the floor level, and upon the side of the room where 
there was no wall-seat. In the middle of the room 
was a long table and two common benches, one on 
each side of it. A Professor, who had heard Don- 
ald on the examination in Virgil, sat in the box- 
desk. He, too, wore spectacles, as did also the 
President of the college, and two other professors. 
How could these youths be properly governed with- 
out those glasses? This Professor’s spectacles had 
gold bows, and there was no coloring in the eyes. 
It made all the difference in the world. His pleas- 
ant expression was not lost to Donald. He did not 
often smile, but there was good-breeding in his 
words, in his look, in his bow, in his'graceful form with 
its every movement. His clothes always fitted well. 
His boots were always well blacked. Professor 


NYOTON COLLEGE. 


167 


Pressley was in every sense a cultured gentleman. 
His few words* of kindly welcome to the new class, 
and his manly manner as ie gave out the Latin les- 
son in Livy for the morrow, won upon Donald, and 
served to soothe his ruffled spirit. 

When dismissed, all retired to their rooms for 
study. The hall prodigy, “ the slop woman ' that 
Sam had described, was just emerging from Twenty- 
eight as Sam and Donald were ready to enter. 
Short, thick-set, blear-eyed, slatternly-attired, with 
broom and slop-pail in hand, this woman gave one 
cross look at the intrusive boys (as much as to say, 
“If you speak to me, I’ll report you,) and then 
sidled off down the stairs. She had put the room, 
including the bedroom, into complete order. After 
they had sat down near opposite points of their 
round table, with grammars and dictionaries and 
text-books before them, and had studied quietly 
for perhaps half an hour, Yardley looks up from his 
book, and says: “You got a little ruffled, Don, this 
morning, at the ‘hold in’?’' 

“Yes, I got badly squeezed, lost my hat, and they 
tore my coat in the scramble, and I confess it riled 

* n 

me. 

“ My cousin says, Don, that the best way here is 
to take the Sophs’ mischief good-naturedly and 
soon they’ll have done; for if they find they can 
plague a feller, they’ll keep on trying.’' 

“That’s so, Sam; that’s my theory; but I find 
Don Woodward the hardest to manage." 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


1 68 


“ Well, Don, / get mad easy too , and swear some- 
times, but it don’t go deep nor last long We must 
take lessons of your friend Mr Poor ! He’s the 
humblest, patientest, kindest mortal I know. ’ 

“Yes, Sam, I wish I had some of Poors good 
temper, but I don’t want to be a milk-sop. : ’ 

The dinner is at half-past twelve. All are excited 
at the clubs and boarding-houses, the '* Sorghum 
Club ’ included. The topic is the hold in." Mr. 
Poor says : “ / expected it, and escaped in time. ’ A 
junior declares that he that “ runs aivay lives to fight 
another dayP A Sophomore says * “ The proverb 
fails with Henry Haviland Poor.” Yardley ventures 
a Freshman’s remark: “Never mind, boys, a good 
time’s coming by-and-by. We shan’t be Freshmen 
long ; we’ll have our turn.” 

“Never you mind, Fresh,” says the Sophomore, 
“ it’s a long road yet to the l otium cum dignitate ' of 
our class ; don’t crow too soon ! ” 

Poor thinks the Freshmen should not be thinking 
of retaliating, and believes that it is not very honor- 
able to vent spite and mischief upon the innocent 
and the stranger. “ Probably measures will be taken 
to prevent this rough work before -another year.” 

“All right, Mr. Poor,” says the Junior. “You’d 
take away the round ball , the foot-ball , and other rough 
sports , and substitute ‘grace hoops,’ I suppose?” 

All laugh and here is just the time when Henry 
Haviland Poor puts on his kindest, most submissive 
expression, keeps his eye steadily on his plate, and 


NYOTON COLLEGE. 1 69 

makes no reply. Donald is learning to study char- 
acter, and here are the open books at hand. 

The afternoon lesson was at the reciting-room of 
the Middle College, It was a short one in algebra. 
The old Professor, always on hand before his class, 
was named “Ne plus” by tho students (his real 
name was Lithrow). He sits in a chair, without 
any desk, near the blackboard, as the students enter 
and take the rows of seats facing the blackboard 
that extends across the opposite side from wall to 
wall. “ Ne plus” has gone up the aisle to look out 
of the window. He then steps back to his place by 
the chair, holding the lapel of his coat and jerking 
it. His hair, short and grayish, curls a little, and 
sticks up all over his head ; his face has some chalk 
on its round, clean chin, and a slight dab of it on his 
big, wrinkled forehead. His coat, before and behind, 
where his hand seeks his handkerchief, is chalky. Pro- 
fessor “Ne plus” knows algebra by heart; without 
book he sends three to the blackboard, and ques- 
tions a fourth student. He never smiles at a mis- 
take, nor at a joke, nor at anything. He is appar- 
ently the roughest, and yet Donald found him the 
tenderest and kindest at heart of all the professors. 
This preliminary lesson is hardly worth naming, 
notice of it was sent around to the students rooms 
in the morning on slips of paper, and so everybody 
is prepared. It serves as an introduction of Profes- 
sor Lithrow to his pupils.- Donald makes a good 
beginning, in giving his definitions clearly and dis- 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


170 

tinctly. Clearness of enunciation and positive ways 
always suit Professor “Ne plus,” for they are his 
own. 

After recitation all return to their rooms to study 
till the touch of the chapel bell indicates that study 
hours for the day-time are over. Then the students 
usually go to some exercise , ball playing, gym- 
nasium, or upon walks, two by two, in different 
directions. 

“Come, Don,” says Yardley, “put up your Latin; 
let us take the air. Probably you would like to get 
you a hat to replace the one you lost this morning; 
though you are welcome to my cap , if it suits you.” 

“ All right, Sam ; yours is rather big for common 
mortals!” says Donald; “let’s go.” They go down 
the stairs and out of the south door, when a pleas- 
ant scene attracts their attention. Just east of the 
colleges is quite an extensive plaza, having a few 
shade-trees here and there, but otherwise unob- 
structed except by a low, firm board-fence at some 
considerable distance off. The Sophomores, that is, 
many of them, perhaps fifteen in all, were playing an 
elegant game of foot-ball. It consisted of sides, 
separating from each other a few yards and fixing 
for limits the east and west fence north of the col- 
leges, and the east and west fences south of all the 
colleges. One student was to “ set ” the ball, hold 
it in his hands or put it on the ground, and give one 
kick; then all are to run for it: the student who 
gets to it kicks it north of south, according to his 


NYOTON COLLEGE. 


171 

side and its limit. At first there is an alternation, 
then two or more are kicking at it at the same time. 
Now one picks up the ball and “ sets ” it again ; soon 
the north boys have the best of the game, and drive 
the ball beyond the south limit, all running and 
shouting, and this game is over. 

This is fine fun. The Freshmen keep on collect- 
ing. Donald has had some practice at foot-ball, 
and he enjoys the play, entering into the spirit of 
the first game, without, of course, taking part. Sam 
cries out “Hurray!” and “Go it, Dan Tucker!” as 
the excitement increases. Now a fine-looking stu- 
dent, one of the broad-shouldered men at the “hold 
in,” approaches the increasing group of Freshmen, 
and says : “ Come, men, would your class like to 
play us a game?” “Oh, yes, yes!” is the reply. 
“ Well, choose your leader.” They fix .upon Sam 
Yardley, though he declares : “ My wind is too short, 
but I might’s well begin and then fall out when 
tuckered.” Sam whispers to Donald: “Now , Don, 
grow red in the face if you like, but don’t get mad” 

They divide off into sides, Sophomores on one side 
and Freshmen on the other. Sam is allowed to 
“set” the ball and give the first kick, northward; 
one of the other side runs and catches the ball and 
sends it far to the south. Then all rush for it ; the 
Freshmen in good earnest, to kick the ball, and the 
Sophomores bent on fun and mischief \ Donald gets 
near the ball and is just kicking, when at least three 
toes strike his foot hard under the sole, and throw 


72 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


it up, and topple him over by this unexpected game. 
He cries “ No fair ! ” and is getting in a rage when he 
remembers Sam’s “Don t get mad so he is up and 
at the ball again. This time Donald, Sam, and 
other Freshmen are having feet plunked into them 
from all sides. Their shins and legs get badly 
bruised. Some get terribly vexed, and use their 
hands and feet both in return ; hats are off, students 
are now down and now up, and all is wild confusion 
and noise, till a Sophomore hits the ball a hard dig, 
and sends it south nearly to the fence. Now all, 
except a few sore and angry Freshman, make a rush 
for the ball. A tall Freshman that the students 
afterward called “Sky Haskell '/ or simply “Sky” 
got to the ball first, and drove it away back. Again 
the struggle was renewed; the Freshmen for the 
ball, and the Sophomores for their legs, shins, and 
feet, Donald at last became furious. “ ’Twas more 
than human nature could bear,” he said. He hap- 
pened at that moment to pitch on a student no big- 
ger than himself, and let him have the whole force 
of his instep just as he was bending away from him 
to seize the ball. The blow struck the student's 
thigh, and over he went into a small pool of muddy 
water, for they were near the college pump. He 
fell splash, out at full length, bespattering him, 
hands, face, and clothing, from head to foot. This 
unexpected success made Donald laugh, and it re- 
lieved his anger, if not his sore and aching shins. 
Sam„ who had used up his breath, and began to 


NYOTON COLLEGE. 


173 


cough, here asked Donald to help him off. Proba- 
bly it was one of Sam’s manoeuvres in part, for he be- 
gan to see the fire in Donald that once lighted was 
so hard to quench. 

Sam and Donald then went back to their room to 
wash up and get ready again for their proposed 
walk. By the time they returned to the grounds, 
the foot-ball game was over, and the Freshmen had 
graduated from their second lesson in “ the initiation 
process.” 


CHAPTER XIV. 


THE SPEAKING — COMPOSITION — SMOKING. 

HE Freshman class began its speaking on Sat- 



JL urday morning, after breakfast, at the chapel. 
Each student was to bring with him a specimen of 
his own composition, either a letter written to some 
friend or a piece written upon some subject of his 
own choosing; and also to be prepared to declaim, 
using any former poetry or prose article that he had 
at some time declaimed. 

Poor Professor Dooly! You do not wonder that 
he laughs from out of one corner of his mouth, and 
that his eyes behind his spectacles grow red. For 
he actually goes through all those compositions and 
letters, carefully noting every misspelt word, putting 
capitals where they belong, and fixing the punctua- 
tion according to his own uniform system. Donald 
writes a letter to his brother Henry, and gives 
Professor Dooly a copy. Here it is: 


(< 


Nyoton College, Sept. — , 18 — . 


“ Dear Henry, — W hen I was home, I thought 
college was pice ; I felt proud, and held my head up. 


174 


COMPOSITION. 


*75 


But when I got back and went to prayers, where I 
thought men went to pray, I changed my mind. I 
found a rough time. The ‘ Sophs ’ held us in, 
jammed me, tore my coat, and somebody ‘hooked’ 
my hat. We Freshmen can’t go anywhere, nor do 
anything, that some Soph or Junior don’t remind us 
that we are ‘ Freshmen .’ They say ‘hello, Fresh, 
is your mother in town?’ or, ‘Say, Fresh, have you 
had your eye-teeth cut?’ I tell you, Henry, I shall 
be glad enough when I can leave this Freshman 
class. At foot-ball we were invited to join in the 
game with the Sophs. They never played fair. 
They just spent their time in kicking our shins. I 
had the good luck to give as good as was sent, and 
to floor one of them. This ‘ holding in ’ and 
‘ kicking shins,’ they call initiation . Our time will 
come, if the professors do not put a stop to the 
whole business. Tell mother and father that I am 
well, like my room-mate, and hope to make a good 
scholar. Your loving brother, DONALD.” 

Sam Yardley always has a great deal of fun in 
him, but when he comes to write he leans to the 
sentimental, for he enjoys above all things those 
writers who treat of tender love and often make you 
cry. He takes as his first subject “ True Greatness.” 
Here is a brief extract: 

u * * * * An officer of the British Government 
met a poor soldier one day. The officer had a large 
body, a fine, rich uniform, a beautiful sword, and a 
magnificent horse. The soldier was on foot, had 


176 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


lost his way, and was in fear and trembling lest he 
might not get back to the roll-call in the camp 
where his regiment was. He was full of joy when 
he saw the officer riding slowly along. He speaks 
to him : ‘ Major, can you tell me where is the camp 
of the Twenty-first Foot?' The officer, giving him 
a look of contempt, says, in a .harsh tone : ‘ Am I 
a sign-board, sir?’ Now, this British officer after- 
wards acquired a great name , but he was not a great 
man , because a great man has some soul in him.” 
* Donald’s first speech was that grand old piece, 
which is always good : 

“ Stand, the ground’s your own, my braves ! 

Will ye give it up to slaves ? 

Will ye look for greener graves ? 

Hope ye mercy still ? 

What’s the mercy despots feel ? 

Read it in yon battle-peal ! 

Ask it ye who will.” 

He acquitted himself so well, spoke with so much 
animation, showing that he knew and could give the 
meaning of his piece, that Professor Dooly com- 
mended him highly. 

Our acquaintance, “ Sky” Haskell, amuses the 
Freshmen by attempting in tragic attitudes to 
speak “ The boy stood on the burning deck,” etc. 
His arms, as he stretched them out, were too long, 
and his legs were dreadfully uneasy, one going for- 
ward and then the other. As the students laughed, 
“Sky” would grow red, and laugh too. He soon 
lost himself, forgetting His piece, and left the stage 


THE SPEAKING. 


77 


almost as fast as he had gone for the ball. Sam 
Yardley laughed at “Sky” till he cried. Professor 
Dooly, doubtless thinking it would punish Sam for 
laughing so much x says “Yardley!” just as “Sky” 
Haskell comes down. Drawing his face down into 
a solemn pucker, to keep the treacherous muscles 
proper and straight, Sam starts for the stage. He 
begins : 

“At Belgium’s Capital were gathered then, 

Her beauty and her chivalry,” etc* 

He gets along pretty well with his suppressed 
merriment, till he is saying, “ Hush ! Hark ! Did ye 
not hear it?” 

The Professor, who is sitting in his chair, leaning 
back against the side wall, somehow, being indig- 
nant at the disposition of these new students to 
make sport, made a sudden movement to rise; his 
chair slipped and he went down with a crash, his 
spectacles coming off, and his book flying to the 
middle of the floor. Of course, this was pat. Sam 
laughed, and said, as he always did when carried 
away with fun, “Hurray ! Hurray!” and the 
students shouted and clapped their hands. This Pro- 
fessor never quite got over this, his first rhetorical 
effort with the Freshmen of 18 — . He seemed to 
owe them a grudge, and poor Sam Yardley was 
made to toe the mark after that in no common man- 
ner. Of course, there were other speeches, but Pro- 
fessor Dooly did not detain the class long after his 
mishap. The Freshmen themselves now had some- 


i;8 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


thing lively to talk about at their club-rooms and 
during their walks, this Saturday afternoon. Donald 
and Sam “do” the town, the falls, the factory, and 
“sweep” around by the hall women’s humble 
abodes. Near here they meet Mr. Poor and “Sky” 
Haskell, and stop to talk. Mr. Poor exacts a prom- 
ise from both Donald and Sam to join the Presi- 
dent’s Bible-class, that meets Sunday afternoon, and 
hopes he will attend the religious lecture of Pro- 
fesssor Lithrow at the Senior recitation this even- 
ing. As they look toward the east they see coming 
a chaise with a horse attached, running away. The 
occupants are two drunken students. They have 
lost control of the horse, or do not care what they 
do, as they hoot and sway around. Two little boys 
are in the road, playing in the sand. The team is 
just upon them. Instantly “ Sky” Haskell has 
sprung before the horse, across the road, with a 
boy in each hand. The little ones are saved. The 
carriage strikes a post at the next corner, a wheel and 
axle give way, the harness is broken and the horse, 
plunging, frees himself and goes on. The drunken 
students roll ou v t upon the ground, not much hurt 
(the escape of drunken men is wonderful). Poor , with 
the help of the other young men leads them to their 
rooms, and they are protected from exposure. Henry 
Haviland Poor will not betray the wild lads, but he 
will take advantage of just this mishap to reason with 
the young men, show them how near they were to kill- 
ing the little boys, and to losing their own lives ; 


“ SMOKING OUT.' 


79 


and he will get a promise of amendment from them 
in the gentlest way. “Sky” was fast becoming the 
hero of the Freshman class. 

When the time for the evening lecture came 
Donald and Sam concluded, as they had a nice fire 
and a comfortable, well-lighted room, that they 
would stay at home and write some letters to their 
mothers. They were busily making their pens fly, 
without speaking, when there came a gentle knock 
at the door. Sam says: “Come in.” The door 
opened and there filed into the room a column of 
masked men, each with a pipe in one hand and a small 
tobacco-pouch in the other. The file turned to the 
right and kept close to the wall, and went around the 
square, till meeting the incomers, the head man 
halts, all close up, and then the column breaks at 
the door and another circuit is made just within the 
first, and so on till there is but little space left 
around the two astonished Freshmen. Then there 
is a deep voice : “ Halt ! Inward face ! Sit down ! ” 
All are then seated on the floor. The windows are 
watched by a masked figure on the window-sill of 
each, and the door is locked. Again the stern com- 
mand, “ Ready ! ” Donald turns pale, while he 
wonders if his last hour has come, but Sam has 
heard of this operation before. At this order all 
the pipes are filled and the matches are lighted; 
then “ Fire ! ” is the word as the blaze is brought to 
. the tobacco, and the puffing begins. They smoke, 
and smoke, and smoke, till they could hardly see 


i8o 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


across the room, till Sam has begun to choke and 
cough, and Donald has begged for mercy’s sake to 
let him get his head out of a window. But no, the 
leader says: “We’ll take cold, sir.” But says Don, 
his anger rising : “You fools, I’m sick! I’m sick!” 
The man with the key was pretty sick himself, and 
so he opens the door, when Sam and Donald make 
a rush for the hall, Sam to breathe, and Donald to 
throw his supper over the banisters. The leader 
now says : “ Rise ! ” “ Retire ! ” when all march out and 
down the stairway, and disappear without another 
word. Donald and Sam have now passed the third 
epoch of the “ initiation.” 

This “ smoking out ” is a favorite game in the way 
of “ initiating” Freshmen, but it is indeed a nasty 
one. Sam Yardley was a little sick, and was driven 
by the smoke into a severe fit of coughing. This 
took away his strength so much that he was hardly 
in condition to help Donald put the room to rights. 
Donald, soon recovering from his extreme nausea, 
opened his windows and door to let the smoke out ; 
ran down to the front door with his wood-basket and 
scraped up several handfuls of saw-dust that he had 
noticed there before night ; carried it up and spread 
it over the slimy places left by the spitting smokers 
on his carpet. Then he took his broom and swept 
out his room as well as he could, table, cloth, books, 
papers, curtains, lounge-cushion, pictures and what 
ever else had been deranged by the troublesome 
intursion were put back into their former symmetrical 


“SMOKING OUT. 


I8l 

order. It was a full hour after the intruders had 
gone, before the young men felt as if they had a 
respectable room. Sam was disposed to laugh at 
the fun, between his fits of coughing, but Donald 
said : “ It is mean and contemptible business, and 
ought not to be borne by decent people!" 

“ But," says Yardley, “what can’t be helped, must 
be endured." 

The young men could not quiet themselves down 
to study or writing that night, so Donald locked the 
hall-door, and they were proceeding to bed, when a 
gentle knock was heard. The key is turned, when in 
steps the dignified Professor Dooly. 

“You seem to be up very late, young gentlemen ! " 

“Yes, sir," says Donald, “ we have had a visitation." 

“ I thought as much, as I smelt the tobacco-smoke. 
Did you recognize any of the smokers, Yardley?" 

“No, sir; they were all masked, and scarcely 
spoke. Their leader gave the orders in a short, 
sharp tone." 

“ How many of them were there?" 

“Oh, I don’t know; we had a roomful." 

The Professor tried hard to get some clue to the 
parties, but he could not ; neither Donald or Yardley 
would have betrayed the young men, had they 
known them. Luckily for them, they could not rec- 
ognize a single voice. Professor Dooly, after advis- 
ing the new students to expose all rascality of this 
kind to the College Faculty, withdrew. 

Sam declared that “ the Professor must have for 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


182 

gotten his own college days. He can’t be so foolish 
as to think we are going to ‘ peach ’ even on those 
miserable Sophs, can he, Don ? ” 

'•No, Sam. I don’t believe in tattling, but I’m 
going to study on these pranks of 'holding in,’ 
‘ kicking shins,’ and ‘ smoking out,’ and see if we can’t 
come up with the Sophs.” 

"Well, Don, lay your plans, and we’ll back them 
up.” 

Thus they talked, till sleep came at last, with its 
relief from present worrying. In dreams Donald 
pursued a regular plan of revenge on the “ Sophs.” 
He thought he had them penned up like his father’s 
sheep, when they are driven to the brook for the 
spring’s washing, and he was helping Parker to duck 
them in the stream, one by one. The fence didn’t 
seem to be high enough, and the Sophs began to 
climb over and run off, when his father set fire to 
the dry grass near by and the whole field was covered 
with flames. The Sophs’ clothes caught fire, and 
they ran back to the brook and plunged in. He 
thought that he clapped his hands with joy that 
these naughty scamps were getting their due, when 
he awoke, with the bright morning sun reflected by 
a tin roofing through his bedroom window into his 
face. He laughed aloud at the nonsense of his 
dream, and his ideas of revenge began to be dis- 
placed. 


CHAPTER XV. 


SUNDAY AT NYOTON. 

D ONALD was always rather religiously inclined. 

He liked to go to the prayer-meeting, the Sun- 
day-school, and the church, when at home ; but he 
never lived up to his own convictions of what a 
Christian should be. His besetting sins, as we have 
seen, were excessive anger on small provocation, 
the use of hard and improper language when in 
anger, and a disposition to “ come up ” with those 
who had crossed his path and vexed him. 

Sam Yardley seemed to be a singular compound. 
He was not easily provoked, and was generous and 
self-denying. He was full of pity for the suffering. 
At times humor predominated ; at times he ran over 
with fun ; but habitually he was carried away with 
some sentiment of extraordinary power — pathos, 
sympathy, love (all human). Withal he was often 
sceptical on the Bible. He sometimes used profane 
words, and he brought out the most ludicrous ex- 
pressions in his swearing, that would make any- 
body laugh, except, perhaps, Henry Haviland Poor. 

183 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


184 

These boys — for as yet they are only boys, Donald 
just coming to sixteen in October, and Sam seven- 
teen in November — these boys are really a help to 
each other. Sam .checks Donald in his sudden 
flashes, preaches patience, and thinks it wise to do 
others good turns, even when they have done you ill 
ones; while Donald brings Sam from his flights of 
sentiment and air-castles to practical things, and has 
& way of bringing things to pass that always com- 
bats Sam’s natural tendency to let well enough alone 
and leave things half-done. Donald, moreover, with 
all his sins, has great reverence for the Bible and its 
truths, and insists on Sam’s not using profane 
words. 

After the breakfast at the club, when the few 
Sophomores look upon our Freshmen with no little 
show of fun in their faces, and ask them with knowing 
winks, “Do you smoke?” Donald and Sam get 
themselves up as well as they can. Of course, they 
both shave , but it makes Donald blush and Sam sing 
“ Dan Tucker ,” with a “ hurrah ! '” to get through the 
operation for the first time ; with clean shirts, brushed 
clothes, and shining boots, they take themselves to 
the “ Orthodox Church.” Poor meets them at the 
church-gate, and shows, them up into the students 
gallery. There is a long row of seats for each class, 
the second seat a little higher than the first, and so 
on back to the Freshmen’s row. Probably there is 
nothing that begets the virtue of humility or at least 
develops it more, than to be a Freshman, when one 


SUNDAY AT NYOTON. 


185 


can look up from class to class to the immense heights 
to which the Seniors have attained ; and it does not 
relieve the situation at all to put the Freshmen, as 
in this old church, on higher platforms, and let them 
look down to the Seniors’ benches, for, are not the 
distinguished professors and their families still fan 
ther below, occupying front places of honor? The 
Orthodox Church was always well filled Sabbath 
days; A solemn procession filed into the pews just 
as the great bell was tolling, and the people ar- 
ranged themselves in a respectful, listening attitude, 
facing the pulpit. It is altogether proper to call 
this “a pulpit,” for it is a high one, high enough 
to meet the wants of the three galleries and be seen 
(at least its crest) by all the house. After the 
church was made over, from its ancient simplicity' 
of lathing and plastering, to a church with the new- 
polished beams and roof exposed, all beautified and 
subdued by the many-colored Gothic windows, there 
was a fatal defect, as things were. The galleries 
could see and be seen, maiden ladies of unknown 
years, as well as ambitious widows and matrons, had 
renewed their youth, and students’ hearts danced 
with joy at the kaleidoscopic variety of unblemished 
beauty before them ; yet the minister made much 
noise, in his high pulpit, to. little purpose, for he 
could be understood only in streaks. His most sol- 
emn warnings would create a smile, and his strains 
of eloquence be ineffective before the mocking 
rafters.: After consideration, the Professor of Elo- 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


1 86 

cution, our sensible Professor Dooly, recommended 
a “ sounding-board .” It was a curious, warped sur- 
face, of the same oaken coloring and polish as the 
rest of the church, so contrived and arranged behind 
the head of the minister as to send his words straight 
home to all wakeful ears. It was already up when 
Sam and Donald appeared in the students' gallery 
— back seats. Our young men brought no books, 
nor paper, nor opera-glass. They sat down respectfully 
in the farther corner, and certainly this, their first 
Sabbath, kept their ears and their eyes open. Stu- 
dents’ feet were up (a college habit that goes into law 
offices) ; some were asleep before the first prayer was 
over; cloaks concealed various books; as, Shakes- 
peare, Moore, Byron, Dickens, and Bulwer. While 
the eyes of sundry students were cast down rev- 
erently, and ears supposed to be attentive, the words 
of the sermon were as effectually lost as if that mar- 
vellous sounding-board had never been born. Other 
some were busying themselves in studying favorite 
faces in other galleries, or in the family pews below. 
Did none listen to the eloquent minister of Christ? 
Oh, yes; Donald, Yardley, T ‘Sky,” Andrew Macom- 
ber, and other Freshmen; the religious men of the 
Sophomores; the same of the Juniors, and the same 
of the Seniors ; these, however, were very few in 
number compared with the whole. 

It may here be added, that the example of those 
revered youths in the Senior, Junior, and Sopho- 
more seats soon bore its lawful fruit with the Fresh- 


SUNDAY AT NYOTON. 


1 8 ; 


men, for even our serious Woodward and our kindly 
Yardley took books of poetry, which were not 
hymns, with them to church, and did as they saw 
the others do. Was no effort made by the Faculty 
to stop this irreverent, disrespectful, and demoraliz- 
ing practice? Yes , indeed. The four class-monitors, 
on pain of dismissal, were charged with reporting 
the individual offenders whom the pastor, the Rev. 
Dr. Parker, had suspected, from the continued sto- 
lidity of countenance, under his moving appeals, 
to have been putting up no ordinary barriers against 
him. Poor Donald (when doesn’t poor Tray get 
caught?) was reported for 41 reading in church” the 
first Sunday he carried a book. 

The President of the college sent for Donald, and 
begins in President Warner Smith’s own inimitable 
manner — deep, slow, sonorous, solemn manner — to 
say: 44 It is very gratifying to me as President of 
this college to commend you, Woodward, for unusual 
good conduct, and I have so had occasion to inform 
your anxious friends; therefore,” (judge of Donald’s 
rising pride and gratification up to this point), 44 there- 
fore, you can hardly wonder at my surprise and sor- 
row at this report” (a paper is in his hand), 4c the 
monitor’s report of reading in church.” 

Donald’s rising feathers of gratified pride were 
wilted, and he felt ashamed ; but he rallied for a mo, 
ment, and said : 44 1 find it quite as profitable to read 
a good book in church as to listen to Dr. Parker’s 
sermons.” 


DON t AtD’S, SGHOQIy , .DAYS. 


m 

v .“.Ah r [indeed h n ..Pray, W optlward,;, what book can 
be so good as that?” 

T re n) fel i pgly, h e^ns wers sir . " f [ 

H It is against the rules of the r cpJ)ege ? Woodward,- 
to read even s&gvgdz bopk^s, q^urc^.- 

That will do, sir.” 

But all this violation oii ^college;- ' r,eprk 

mand did not occur till quitedatp in v pur ^osh naan’s; 
first term, 

, Ip v the afternoon of this first: L Sabbath, H enry 
Ha^iland; Popruknocked gently at the : ypupg men’^ 
door. , r“£orn£, in ! ” The door is alpwly opened,; 
and in .Ai$pf;t tpne^Poorsays: “ E^id you-.- say come, 
in?” Being assured that h e was-so :) welcpmed, hq t 
says, : I think you, Woodward,, ancj ypu £ roqqi-majte, 
promised to go with m e . .,tp ; tjie Prf^idept’a Bibles 
class this afternoon, did you not? ” 

TYardley says-p, “ I, think I’m top hard a.casp to go., 
there, rnd pi}r fellows wijl laugh, and say,,‘ Jherej 
goes old Sam, getting religious ! { I guess I’d better 

net-gOoU io ^buj) ".otoloiofit jebnenl abolitna 

“B^t,”, pnswers Pppr,; “ a promise •i^ J ,a L pf ( om i i l se n 
and iiCnyen [don't life this Time XPWi 

again-. e (bnfid i . 

"‘Well, Mr. Ppor t if you put it in that way, I’ll 
stand tehjny prp-rnise, if the wqrld t falls. t Come, X\on, 
le,tfH%;spp tWiPf^dqqt, -andukaKq • the jbo^ 
dayh oj oldfitfioiq zr efiup it bnB I ** : bins bnr, t }norn 

..‘^hie^reOT^c^e^tP ^h^TOifet’S r cqhpge-£qpm Vl . 
It is a pleasant room in the Middle College, aeppnd 


SUNDAY ’AT NYOTON.’ 189 

* floor, northeast ' corner. It - looks ou t lupon the 
gymnasium, the foot-ball grounds', and jocatches 
r'glimpses of the - path4 r -treesythndb ftQwef&rtoCIthe 
front of the North College. Art offife-Chahb sits 
tangent: to hhe h eavilydad en orou ri d table, andYsome 
fifteen or twenty comhion. chairs are placed in semi- 
circles facing north and east. Solemn-faced 1 young 
'xxrfen'kre^comingoiinao : President iWsfrnaeif J Smith, with 
his long, thin, dark-gray hair, well distributed toJcover 
the bald place, { andnveli eofribed back: from hisdull, 
handsome forehead, dressed^withofaultlessl nicety 'in 
black, sitsqn; the office-chair. His ■ glasses^ like those 
of: qur elegant Professor Pressley, have golden bows, 
but there is a slight coloring to the.light^y so v that 
cyou feel before: the President: “ He is veiled ;i (Dwish 
he would take them off ;:now and then ;T' but he 
1 does never do it in the presence of a 'student.' They 
-carry the ideas of impressiveness, dignity^ distance, 
discipline, but not genialty of lovingkindness. Don- 
ald and - Sam follow Poor to a seat near the front. 
•Sam 'ached for a back-seat, and Donald: would have 
been glad to compromise on a middle one. But Poor 
was brave,, and liked to gdt where the fire was warm- 
est. These lesson's were; a review of Gd'rfnthiaits, 
supporting a series of talks on the evidences of 
'Christianity. .1 W ery few: questions were asked,' and 
the President did the main talking. His voice was 
rich and manly his language - strong and chaste, and 
bis arguments clear and pointed. Donald was 
delighted, almost entranced, and - 'Sam Yardley 


9 o 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


thanked Poor with heartiness, and declared : “ That 
was worth being laughed at to hear! ” 

Donald asked, “ Doesn’t the President ever preach 
to the students? * 

'‘Yes, he preaches one sermon, called the bacca- 
laureate, once every year. He hold prayers at the 
chapel most every evening, as you know, and he 
lectures in the Senior recitation-room some Friday 
nights.” 

Sam says: “The old man can beat me on the 
Bible. I’d like to hear him explain some things.” 

“ What’s your trouble, Yardley ; perhaps I may be 
able to help you out?” asks Poor, while taking the 
proffered seat. 

“Oh, there are a good many points that aren’t so 
clear. ’Twould be a long story.” 

Donald laughs, and says, “ Mr. Poor, we got into 
the sharpest argument on free grace and the de- 
crees. Sam says, ‘If things are fixed ,as my 
mother’s church believes, what’s the use of scold- 
ing? If I’m to he saved , I'll be saved.' But, if 
grace is free, and anybody can be saved, as his 
mother’s church says, by the asking, then the 
Bible falls, for it plainly teaches that God has 
made the decrees.” 

“Well, young gentlemen,” and Mr. Poor smiled 
sweetly upon them, “ I preceive that you have gone 
into the calculus before you have finished your alge- 
bra and your geometry. But let us suppose General 
Scott had made out a plan for his Mexican campaign. 


SUNDAY AT NYOTON. 


I 9 I 

a general, a very general one, and had stuck to it all 
through. Would there not be things that his lieu, 
tenants could do out of their own minds, and by their 
own plans, provided they always kept the general 
plan ? God’s plans are real ones, and they are broad 
enough, deep enough, and high enough for him to 
give easy play to our plans. Only we must not break 
into his plans.” 

Donald says : “ I don’t think I quite understand 
you. You mean, the decrees are God’s general plans 
for running the world, the universe, and free grace is 
a permission he gives us to run our little ma- 
chines. All well enough, if we don’t smash into his 
big machine ! ” 

“Yes,” says Poor, “that will do.” 

Sam declares; “That wont do , for no blundering 
fellow like me could ever help running a-foul of the 
Almighty’s engines ! ” 

“That’s just the fact; you w/// run ‘ a-foul] and 
by-and-by you’ll find it out ; but, as I said, we had 
better begin with thexalgebra, and master that first. 
We must give our hearts to the Lord, and then he 
will give us his Holy Spirit , who will make things 
plain.” 

Mr. Poor then left them. As soon as he was 
gone, neither desired to continue the discussion, and 
it dropped for the time. 

Some letters had been written home by Donald 
and Yardley. They had read a chapter each in the 
Bible, but each being ashamed to be seen by the 


I 9 2 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


other kneeling in prayer, the prayer part was omit 
ted, except that Donald, after retiring, murmured to 
himself the verse our mothers have 1 taught us to 
say at this hour, “ Now I lay me down to 1 sleep;” 
etc. He and Sam were soon sleeping soundly, how 
long they could not tell, when they were awaked by 
a continued knocking at the door. Donald got up 
and went to the door to see what was the matter. 
As soon as the door was open some one put a gag 
to his mouth, two persons seized his arms, and tWD 
more his legs, and carried him off doXvn the stair- 
way, while another party pushed into the bedroom 
to entertain Sam, and keep him quiet. Donald was 
taken to the college pump and held under the 
spout; while a deep voice said : “ Struggle not, 
young man ; you have a hot temper, and we must 
cool it.” Donald, seeing little use in trying to make 
further resistance, after a few trials that only made 
the gag go in deeper, and the gripe of his tor- 
menters more galling, gave up, and received his chilly 
bath without further resistance. 

“ Let the water be applied.” The spout pours 
its big stream over Donald, glad at any rate that his 
bearers have got to take a little of the bath, for they 
dare not let go. 

“ Let the water be applied.” It is done a second 
time, and then, in the same manner, a third time ; 
and then: “ The water has done its work. Return.” 
Donald is now carried back to his room, and put 
into it, as Sam’s watchers come out. They have 


StfNfrAY AT NYOTON. 


m3 

nearly smothered him, and brought hisl mattress, 
with him on it, to the front room, and put it on the 
floor. As they leave, Sam coughs and raves at 
them by turns, cursing their “ bothersome souls, in 
the name of Jehosaphat and all the prophets.” 

Donald is angry enough^ but very cold and shiv- 
ering. He and Sam soon get a light, replace their 
mattress and bedding, and after Donald has rubbed 
himself till there is “ circulation,” and put on dry 
underclothing, they 'go' to bed again. Donald’s Sun- 
day exercises haven’t do ne him much good, for he 
grinds his teeth and lies awake a long time planning 
how he can retaliate on the Sophsi” ! for this en- 
forced bathing. 

At last sleep comes. If i r t were not that his old 
temper had been stirred up to such intensity, the 
bath did him very little harm. But there are always 
ten dangers to a young man’s spirit, where there is 
one to his body. Next day he writes to his brother : 

“ Nyoton, Sept. — , 1 8 — . 

* “DEAR Henry,— Yardley and I went to morning 
prayers, to the Orthodox Church ( where they put 
us in . the corner of a high gallery), and in the after- 
noon to the President’s Biblfe-class; and after we 
came back to No. 28, Henry Haviland Poor, that 
mother knows about, stopped and gave us a good 
lecture. We went to evening # prayers, and, as 
mother will tell you, I wrote her almost 1 U religious 
letter. Well, you say: ‘Donald is getting pretty 


i 9 4 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


good.’ I thought so myself, when those con- 
founded mean Sophs came in the night and knocked 
at our door, till I got up, but half-awake, and went 
to see who was there. They seized me, they gagged 
me, they carried me off in my night garb, and they 
declared they meant to cool my temper; so they 
pumped spoutfuls of cold water all over me and 
then brought me back, and pushed me, shivering, 
into my dark room. 

“They gagged Sam, too, but only brought him, 
with the bedding, into the front room. 

“ I tell you, I am mad with every Soph, except 
Mr. Poor, and they’ll catch it. — Your brother, 

“ Donald.” 

Henry laughed and laughed at this “ initiation ” 
of Donald. Mr. Woodward said : “ That’s the way 
with boys!” but Mrs. Woodward' was deeply cha- 
grined and deeply anxious about her son. At first 
she was determined to write to her distinguished 
brother, and see if the matter could not be investi- 
gated ; but Mr. Woodward dissuaded her, and said 
it might react to do Donald much harm. For in his 
experience, “ Boys would be boys!” 

Thus the indignation at “ initiations ” of Fresh- 
men extends to the home circles. 

After considerable thought, some tears, and much 
prayer, Mrs. Woodward ends the subject by writing 
a good, motherly letter to her son. Here is an 
extract : 


SUNDAY AT NYOTON. 


195 


“Grenville, Sept. — 18 — 

“My OWN DEAR Boy, — Your mother sympathizes 
with you in all your trials. It is not right for the 
Sophomores to be allowed to impose on you as they 
do, but do try to keep your temper. You will 
always have severe trials in life, and you must learn 
to bear, and have fortitude. I should be very happy 
if I knew your heart was right with your God. 
Your last words in Henry’s letter are not Christian. 
It is not wise to be studying how to revenge oneself. 
Think, Donald, every time you are tempted, of the 
great golden rule: ‘Whatsoever ye would that men 
should do to you, do ye even so to them.’ . . . 

“All are very well at home, and send love. Write 
to me very often, Donald. — Your loving mother, 

“ Emma Woodward.” 

Donald had been thinking intently on some plan 
of revenge. He hit upon the following, and had 
laid it before Sam Yardley. It was this: a few 
chosen Freshmen were to get some molasses, each a 
little, from his “ club,” in a way not to be suspected. 
Two men were to stay back from supper, and, as 
soon as it was dusk, slip into the Sophomore reci- 
tation-room, the night of their class-meeting (some 
Thursday evening), and paint the backs of the seats 
thoroughly with the sticky stuff. He thought this 
would be better than to paint the seats, for there 
would be more probability of reaching a larger nunv 
ber, as the Sophomores would naturally lean back, in 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


ZX&6 

stamping their feet and clapping their hands, during 
the exercises. 

Another plan was to have at least two sticks of 
wood perforated with gimlet holes, and the holes 
filled with assafoetida. These sticks were to be put 
where those sitting near the stove would be likely to 
push them into it during the evening* as the jani- 
tor’s fire burned low. - I 

But Donald had; not yet escaped from the potent 
influence of his mother’s- love, Her< letter deterred 
. him from the carrying out of jhis ^Vpra.'cticaLJokes,’’ ht 
least for the present. He read Sam -what she said. 

“ Well,” Sam replied, “ I guess she’s right, Donald. 
If we should be suspected, we would get bothered 
-ten times as much as if \vejtoQk thejr fun good- 
naturedly.” ’ , v t _• :[ 

“ Of course, mother’s right ; she always is ; but I 
ram- not ready yet to be imposed upoh.- ' Surely, ‘‘one 
good turn deserves another.’ If the^ Sophs" see that 
they can run upon us without harm to themselves, 
when are they ever to stop ? ” 

.b 4 Don’t you' See, Donald, Freshmen’s years never 
last always ; our turn will come, when you can apply 
your mother's great golden rule to the next Fresh- 
man class. You and I can imitate Henry' Haviland 
Poor, can’t we, Don?” 

4r I hope we’ll be .decent, Sam, anyhow, though it 
does alter the case when a man’s own self becomes a 
Soph.” 

csi The' days ;came and went. The grammars were 


SUNDAY AT NYOTON. 


1 97 


made up, the lessons fairly mastered, and our young 
friends' were gradually growing in to the ways of 
college students. There were other doses of “ initia- 
tion,” but none very severe ; none that bruised -the 
shins, destroyed The clothes, or. badly angered Don- 
ald again. One night, however, when the Freshmen i 
were^ electing their class orator and poet, in thdir 
own , recitation-room, the windows were made to 
shake by some invisible hand, and several “Gabriels; 
trumpets” gave unearthly sounds out-of-doors, in 
the darkness, not far off.;. and two or three small: 
pieces of brick came through upper panes into the. 
midst , of the scared F reshmen. But this warning! 
sound Professor Dooly hears in his room over-n 
head, and he manages to meet a trumpeter, trumpet, 
in hand, ascending the stairs as he descends. Thei 
young man: happens to be one of those at Donald’s 
club. It^ is. Stephen Curtis,, from the neighboring! 
town of Rhodes. He is brought before a Faculty 
meeting t full board. He is. assured that it will be 
better for him to tell who were his associates, in this 
mischief, but; he steadily refuses, and finally receives! 
his sentence of “ suspension from the college for onet 
entire term, commencing at once.” He> is sent to i 
study with the Rev. Dr. Kish, of Rhodes, during the 
peribd of ;his' disgraceL , « . r . . .■/ " 

i Donald and Sam r now gave him back some . of his> 
sly smiles of roguery at the last meal before his de- 
parture. “How now, Curtis,” says Donald, “dor 
chickens ever come home tov roost ? ” ' borjq »oY ' 


198 DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 

“Mine do, I reckon, Woodward!” he answers 
good-naturedly. “ It’s a pity I’m going. Who’ll 
take care of you and Yardley?” 

“ Curtis’ care reminds us of the wolf and the 
lamb,” says Sam. “ Lucky for us, our wolf got his 
foot into a trap.” 

Curtis replies, archly: “What revengeful fellows 
you two are! You were only the victims of a little 
harmless fun, necessary to take the extra starch out 
of all Freshmen; but here am I, suffering for other 
people’s faults, just for carrying that long trumpet 
up the stairway, a victim of misplaced confidence; 
for had Poor here only kept his old trumpet, and 
not confided it to me that night, I had not been 
obliged to spend three months in improving my 
morals with Father Kish ! ” 

All laughed at Curtis’ humor, for when inside he 
felt more like crying at his punishment, he still kept 
up heart and met fun with fun. 

Poor smiled upon him, and said : “Surely, Stephen, 
you have my sympathy; but do not for a moment 
fancy it was / who confided to you that trumpet, 
for I do not sound a trumpet before me, as the 
hypocrites do ! ” 

“Good for Poor!” the table cries. 

“Well,” says Curtis, “you’ll bear me witness I’ve 
done my duty to the Freshmen, to take down their 
unnatural pride, and I’m rewarded by a private 
tutor and a tin trumpet.” 

“You perceive,” says Donald, more seriously, “ 1 the 


SUNDAY AT NYOTON. 


I99 


wicked shall not go unpunished.’ What haven’t you 
Sophs made us suffer? Now you begin to get your 
natural reward ” 

*' See to it. then Freshmen” says Curtis, with 
mock solemnity “ tha* you listen daily to the 
wholesome lesson? o'* Henry Haviland Poor and 
when you shall in due time enter the ranks of the 
much-suspected Sophomores, see to it. then, that 
you return good for evil: always treat a poor Fresh, 
man as you will wish you had when he becomes a 
man .” 

So the young man talked, yet in his heart he was 
very, very sorry that he had exposed himself to 
this penalty, and he knew, too, that it would 
trouble his father and grieve his mother, as soon as 
the news should come to their ears. Stephen 
Curtis suffered for others, as well as for himself. He 
submitted cheerfully, however, to the inevitable, 
and the lesson did him good for life. 

Towards the latter part of the first college term, 
the whole deportment of the upper classes changed 
toward Donald, Sam, and the other Freshmen. It 
is just as it is when men come from some disability 
to the right to vote. They then become of some 
interest, some importance. The Freshmen were 
now wanted in the several open and secret associa- 
tions. There was rivalry in the two general literary 
societies — Society A and Society B , There was 
much walking, two and two ; there was much pleas- 
ant, animated, subdued persuasion. Donald and 


200 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


Poor were armdh-arfn ; a Junior had Sam in tow. 
At last the division; is .actually made. What Fresh- 
men do not go to A, go to B, and Vicerversa. The. 
secret .society men, \vitk ttheirl attractive golden; in- 
sigilia' upon ^tiheir breasts, and under the : sweet mys T: 
tery of “ Greek .letters in, 'threes and in twos, * fpr 
obtaining, names for their own -fraternity, go up and 
dowh diligently as the “ fishers ” of Freshmen. Here,; 
too, Donald; and his classmates, the .most of them,, 
are gathered in. We cannot pursue them into thei 
interior labyrinths of their new order. Thereafter 
they hold: their chins, a little higher; they smoke 
cigars, at; least occasionally ; they become more skil- 
ful at cards and gammon. Yet, nobody .knows, whether 
they. - play games and smoke iat all in the secret 
chambers, because,. with them, as with, the Jesuits, 
secrets are secret s^-not spoken and revealed, even) 
by the. writers of books. 

But study, fun and frolicy societyfw.ork and college 
privilege and discipline, in due; process of time draw 
to the end of its first; period;, The last of Novem- 
ber, Henry and Mrs,- Woodward drive from Gren- 
ville to Nyoton in a day.. It is pretty cold weather,; 
but they are wrapped up >\Varmly,v.They reach the 
Emmet House: before night, and Henry goes to the, 
college to find his brother. A timid knock at Donald^ 
door; -Cdmeiri^\fFOm withiq. “Oh, Henry! Henry! 
and beforelanother thought* iiDotiald folds him in his 
armSqaridnikisaes theiisipalinghboy* , “Who is vHtlfc 
you? ’hlAicMfo's with me* at the. hotel.” • “ AH right-/. 


SUNDAY AT NYOTON. 


201 


Here’s my brother, Sam.” Sam laughs and says. 
“Hurray, hurray!” at the evident excitement, and 
begins to sing his one song as he rises and ta&es 
Henry* by the hand. 

“ I’ve got a brother like you, but more full of mis- 
chief, I guess.” 

“You know me pretty quick,” says Henry. 

“Oh, Donald has let me into all your secrets, and 
I only have just to look into the faces of anybody 
at his home, and then I am posted.” 

By this time Donald had got his overcoat on and 
was ready to go to his mother at the hotel. Of 
course, she was glad enough to see him : may be she 
cried for joy when she ought to have laughed. At 
any rate, she spent one day with him, to visit the 
great buildings ; the chapel, the library, the gym- 
nasium, the show-cases of minerals, the philosoph- 
ical apparatus, etc., etc., not forgetting the most 
important to her of curious places, Donald's room. 
All cigars, tobacco, pipes, and cards were invisible 
when Mrs. Woodward made this visit — but some- 
how she took in the whole situation. Rooms, books, 
clothing, and even the hairs of one’s head are tell- 
tale. 

She said to herself: “If he only will keep his 
pledge not to drink , we* will stand the rest, and hope 
on.” 

The next day the three, Mrs. Woodward and her 
two boys, rode with her to Grenville. It was another 
happy ride in this cool autumn day. Donald did 


202 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


seem more polite in manner, more careful in his 
speech, and more manly than ever before; still she 
feared in her secret thoughts, “ He still lives in the 
earthly life, without knowledge of his higher privi- 
leges.’* Mothers watch ! 

Mr. Woodward meets them in the door-yard at 
home on their return, and brightens up a good deal 
at seeing his manly boy. 

“ How are you, young man" (Donald never heard 
his father get above boy before in addressing him); 
“ how are you ? The Sophomores, don’t seem to have 
taken the flesh off. A little whiter than we out- 
door folks!” 

“ No, pa, after one of their number, Stephen 
Curtis, got suspended for ‘running it upon us,’ they 
quit, and of late have been as polite and good as 
you could wish.” 

“Well, well, ahem! Glad they’re done; boys 
will be boys! So, everywhere! You’ve come just 
in the nick of time. There’s been a man over here 
to-day from Weaverton. He wants a schoolmaster 
for a small school, three or four miles south of the 
town; school ten weeks; about twenty scholars; 
pay fourteen dollars a month, and board round.” 

Donald says, thoughtfully and slowly, that he is 
glad to hear it, for he knows he must help his father 
piece out his allowance. 

Mrs. Woodward interrupts them: “Come, come, 
pa ; let us have him a day or two without spoiling 
his visit by reminding him that he must go off 
again.” 


SUNDAY AT NYOTON. 


203 


“ Oh, no hurry ; school don’t begin for two weeks.” 

Parker and Donald’s dog come around the shed- 
corner just as all are making for the south door. 
The dog jumps around him in a circle, crouches, and 
then springs to him, all aglow with joyous greeting; 
Parker quickly removes his pipe from his mouth to 
his vest pocket, as Donald anticipates his greeting, 
extending his hand and saying: “How do ye do, 
Parker.” 

“Tolerable, tolerable,” says Parker, “You don’t 
seem to have got proud yet?” 

“ I hope not, Parker. ’Spose the fall work’s all 
done? ” 

“ Yes ; we just jog around, your father, Henry, and 
I, and do up the chores and small jobs, sich like that 
we have to let go when work’s pressing. But 
mustn’t keep you here shivering, for it’s keen now 
when sun’s down. Sun’s just setting.” 

Donald catches a glimpse of that western sunset. 
Childhood does not really see it, but somehow it 
gets into the memory. The orchard, the grove, the 
intervening fields, the valleys, the slopes, and gentle 
hill beyond ; then, back of all, the grand old moun- 
tains, with snow-white tops, all lighted now in bril- 
liant spots, warming the tips and edges of hills and 
mountains as bright smiles do faces in cheerful 
* good-nights ” before retiring. Every return makes 
home and its scenery more observable, beautiful, by- 
and-by magnificent, by other contrasts. 

No need to dwell upon this vacation. Henry 


204 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


now enters into the enjoyments of Donald’s return. 
His mother gives him a party of the young people 
of his own age. The girls, of course, treat him with 
increased respect, and more distance than before , 
and some of the young men are alarmed for fear 
Donald might be given to mischief and “ cut them 
out.” Yet the two weeks slip away without any 
actual breach of the peace. 

The next day after the party Henry tells Donald 
after this fashion : 

“Your party, Don, was stiff. Didn’t come up to 
the paring-bee , we had three weeks ago ! ” 

“ How’s that, Hal ? ” 

“Why, they’re a little ’fraid of you, Don, now 
you’re a college student.” 

“Tell me about that wonderful ‘paring-bee,* 
Hal.” 

“ Well, everybody was here ; ten girls and twelve 
boys, besides myself , and then we had Mary Given 
and Betsey Manning, that we don’t count as girls , 
though they’re girls enough for me. They make 
lots of fun. ’Lias worked on one side of the table, 
and I on the other, with our two paring-machines. 
Pa, George, and Parker brought in the apples in 
baskets and carried out the strings of apples. The 
rest of the boys and girls ranged themselves ’round 
the big table, and trimmed and quartered and cored , 
while Mary Given, Betsey Manning, and ma strung 
on the quarters. How things did fly! Mary de- 
clared /was her beau, and said she had waited so 


SUNDAY AT NYOTON. 


20 $ 


long, she was bound to wait for me. I ran against 
’Lias, to beat him with my machine. I had the one 
with little CQgs, and didn’t I make it rattle ! All 
kinds of jokes were going ’round while the work 
went on, from seven till little after nine, and all the 
apples mother wanted to put up for drying were 
done. We then went to the parlor, where we had 
the nicest cake and lemonade, handed round by 
Mary and Betsey and ma. Then we played games. 
They rolled the plate first, and I caught it. Then 
’Lias, who was judge, made me put my arms around 
Mary Given’s neck, give her a kiss, and then sit in 
her lap. Mary said, * Splendid ! You see I can afford 
to wait for Henry, for’ he likes me, old as I am, bet- 
ter than he does these young, foolish girls.’ I then 
rolled the plate, and George caught it. I made him 
march with one girl, swing ’round with another, and 
kneel before a third, and kiss her hand. Well, we 
played this plate and pawn business till we tired 
of it, and then we had other games. We would all 
but one take hold of hands in a circle (the one is 
put inside the circle), and then sing, ‘We’re march- 
ing down,’ etc. ; you know the song. I was inside 
once — when we came to — 

“ ‘We’ll open the ring, 

And choose a couple in,’ 

“ I chose Mary Given, and they all laughed. Pa 
was looking on, and enjoyed the fun. He said ’twas 
strange to him how Mary had managed to be an 


206 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


old maid. Mary said : ‘ Oh, that’s easy to tell ; be- 
cause the young men hadn’t good sense when you 
and I were young, Colonel ! ’ Pa laughed out at 
this and said it was well for ma that he hadn’t seen 
Mary Given before he did her. Ma said, ‘Time 
enough yet, father, when you become a widower.’ 

“‘No, no,’ Mary said, ‘I don’t like second-hand 
goods. I’m going to wait for Henry.’ 

•“Well, ’twas ’leven o’clock ’fore we knew it, when 
everybody bundled up and went home. But I tell 
you, Don, we did have a royal time.” 

“Yes, I see; may be Betsey Manning would wait 
for me. She isn’t more than thirty!” 

“You are right, Don. Pa says Uncle Joe Bagley 
tells him that when he was seventeen he married a 
lady old enough to be his mother, to take care of 
him while he was a boy , and lately (now he is a wid- 
ower seventy years of age), he has married a young 
girl to take care of him now he is old." 

“ I tell you what, Henry, no joking, I have taken 
mother’s good advice, and I don’t mean to get tied 
up too soon.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 


SANDY HOLLOW— DONALD’S SCHOOL-TEACHING — ■ 
BOARDING AROUND, ETC. 

HE trustees of Donald’s school that is to be 



-i- think him rather young for a master, but the 
school is small, kept -in one room of a long, one- 
story, private house, and heretofore taught only by 
a woman, and one of them says : “ The scholars there 
in Sandy Hollow don’t know much. Guess any- 
body could teach them" 

Donald begins his school Monday morning, about 
the middle of December. It is so much like the 
school in Grenville, that there is no need of descrip- 
tion. • He has two or three large girls, and the ages 
of his twenty scholars vary from four to twenty-one, 
the usual school limits. The variety of books is 
even greater than in a school of sixty scholars, and 
classifying is very difficult — next to impossible. As 
Donald is young, he gets plenty of advice — very 
young men, being fully conscious of “ the crime of 
being young men,” seldom relish an abundance of 
this luxury. At the place where he commences his 


207 


208 DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 

school, he begins his boarding round the first week 
here at Mr. Longmore's. Mr. Longmore, who 
spends most of his earnings at old Smith's rum-store 
at Weaverton, gives him a rough kind of welcome: 

“Waal, young master, glad you're come, take a 
chair by the fire; we’re rough folks down here in 
Sandy Hollow. Poor country; get ahead slow; 
can’t lay up much ! ” 

Mrs. Longmore, though large and fat, and one 
who ought to be clever , in the American sense of 
the word, is, however, dreadfully sour and cross. 
She replies from her corner, after taking her black 
pipe from her mouth: “Get ahead slow! is it ? 
Can’t lay up, is it? Tell ye, youngster; wes 
aimed enough, slaved enough, and things d be well 
’nough ef the old man would let rum alone ! That’s 
why we ain’t half decent ; might’s well know the 
truth, first as last.” 

“ Don’t mind the old oman, master, she’s half 
crazy. It costs ’bout ’s much for her tabaky as it 
does for my bitters.” Just an Oh!''' and a shrug 
of the shoulders answers this rejoinder. Donald’s 
largest scholar lives here, and she gets the supper. 
“ How do my young uns ’pear, master? 

“ I haven’t been here long enough to express an 
opinion. Max seems bright, and reads well Jake 
gets stuck a little on the multiplication table but 
he appears like a good boy. Martha , I know, will 
take pains to do well.' 

Of course, Martha hears and blushes, but the 


SANDY HOLLOW. 20g 

boys are out getting the night’s supply of green 
wood. 

“ Waal, you talk right, for a youngster. I don’t 
want my young ’uns to have any humbug put into 
their heads to spile ’em. A ’oman here last winter 
told my gal the airth was round, and that the sun 
didn’t rise and set, and sich lies as them air. And 
’vised us to buy her a book. What ’d she call the 
thing, Marth ? ” 

“ A g’ography, par" 

“ Waal, som’at like that. You’ve got none of them 
notions, youngster?” 

Donald was puzzled how to reply to this sally, 
but said : “ I don’t believe in going on too fast ; we 
must make good readers and spellers, and get well 
on in arithmetic, before we think of new notions ! ” 

The old man was delighted to find Donald agree 
with him. He never could tell whether this old 
drunken Longmore was trying “ to sell him,” or 
whether he actually thought as he reasoned, every 
time he could get an opportunity or thought of it, 
that the earth is flat and that it never moves ; it was as 
plain to him as it was to the persecutors of Colum- 
bus that the water would all fall out of the ponds 
and lakes, and the houses drop off, if the earth 
should ever be turned bottomside up. This Long- 
more family was a specimen of this entire neighbor- 
hood. Whenever you come in those old settled 
regions to a strip of very poor land, the shiftless, care- 
less, dissipated families are apt to congregate there 


210 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


to gain a meagre subsistence. It is the cheapness 
of the land that invites them. Such was the char- 
acter of this poor valley of Sandy Hollow. 

Here Donald staid out his ten weeks, every week 
changing his abode. The poor people did the best 
they could by him. The women were not so low 
in the scale of knowledge and morals as the men, and 
the children, though neglected and often very 
poorly, insufficiently clad, were docile, and responded 
to his conscientious efforts to teach them. Donald 
here had to govern himself with a rigid hand, else 
he could not have got through with a day of disci- 
pline of these children, big and little. He was uncon- 
sciously learning some of his most useful lessons in 
human nature, and really teaching and disciplining 
himself quite as much as any pupil under his in- 
struction. He started a temperance society, gave 
them lectures, and obtained Madam Longmore’s 
everlasting gratitude by getting her “old man” to 
sign the pledge. Yes, love and gratitude followed 
his winter’s work at Sandy Hollow. 

Donald, after his return home from this school, 
can make but a short visit, for the college term be- 
gins the first Wednesday in March, after the usually 
long winter vacation. He takes one week for a lit- 
tle rest, and to have his clothes overhauled and re- 
paired by his indefatigable mother. During the 
Tuesday following the college opening, he is taken 
by Parker in a sleigh from Grenville to Nyoton. 
Fresh from his mother’s encouragement and faith- 


SANDY HOLLOW. 


21 1 


ful injunctions (that mother ever loving, ever tram 
ing, ever looking ahead), and with the thirty-five 
dollars in his pocket, the actual proceeds of his 
own labor, he had in his heart a little more content 
ment, a kind of self-satisfaction and self-reliance 
more noticeable than ever before, He is disposed 
during the ride to be even gay. The teasing ele* 
ment in his character generally crops out in such 
moods. As he and Parker glide along from village 
to village, Donald drives the horse, that Parker may, 
with his lighted pipe, relieve the tedium of this 
wintry day by the infallible solace, for it is what 
Parker calls a “ blust’ring day,” and one’s nose gets 
cold unless one’s pipe is lighted. 

“Well, Parker, Henry tells me you are to leave 
us before long, and marry a wife. Is that so? ” 

“Guess that’s so, Donald. Ye don’t find fault?” 

“No, Parker; I pity you, though!” 

“Why can’t ye give a feller joy fer it?” 

“The truth is, Parker, you are both so old that I’m 
afraid you can’t hitch together; she’ll have way, 
and you’ll have your way, and ways sometimes run 
across each other.” 

“No, ye don’t know y’r woman, if ye’ve got that 
in y’r head ! She’s too patient and kind to fight. 
None o’ sich stuff as ye are, Donald.” 

“Yes, Parker, I do know the woman ; it is Mrs. — 
What’s her name? — Mrs. Flipper, who, as mother 
says, married that Englishman who couldn’t read — 
Sam Flipper — led him such a life! Got all his 


212 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


money and then left him, poor man, and went off 
io the factory. His heart was so broken that he 
went to Rhodes and took to drink, and died before 
a year!'’ 

‘What a sarcy boy ye are, Donald. If ye hadn't 
such a temper I b’lieve I’d thrash ye for slandering 
my woman. I knowed ’bout all that. The drunk 
fool drove her off to get her living, and he hadn t 
no heart to bust ! She’s the pashuntest critter I 
knows on in the world ! Haint she took keer of 
that air boy of hisn — he come near killen — made 
lame for life in one o’ them sprees o hisn ?’ 

Parker had become quite excited, for him, and now 
smoked fast, and looked straight ahead. Donald 
laughed and said: “All right, Parker, you know 
best. You must keep a corner for me in your new 
house.” 

“Now ye„talk right, young man. Farmer Wood- 
ward’s byes ’ll never want bread and shelter ef I’m 
’round.” 

“What will father do without you, Parker?” 

“Dunno; I’ve been with ’im nine year, cummin 
June. Guess he’ll miss me: have been close by 
from a boy.” 

“ I’m really sorry you are going away. When 
Henry goes off to school, and you are gone and 
married, and I am off to college, father won't have 
anybody to say to : ‘ That's the way with boys,' 
when he finds the barn-door open, the bars left 
down, or the pitchfork broken. May be, though. 


SANDY HOLLOW. 213 

then the doors, and bars, and pitchforks will be 
all right ! ” 

“In course he’ll ’ave someun to help.” 

Donald, during this ride, drew out from Parker all 
he could about his father, his mother, Henry, and 
the people that he had known from his early child- 
hood. Parker, with no reference to grammar, which 
he never learned, had an odd, quaint, brief way of 
telling things, that made him an interesting compan- 
ion ; and many a mystery of Grenville society (mys- 
tery to this thoughtful lad) was cleared up by 
Parker, who, though he had smoked and smoked, 
and looked into the fire while people were talking, 
had nevertheless been listening, Indian-like, with at 
tention and memory alert. Donald now learned 
about his father’s early life; how promising a young 
man he was; how he was rising in the world, when 
he was obliged to return to his father (Donald’ » 
grandfather), and to take care of him, as the old 
man had fallen into misfortune and embarrassment*, 
how he had been engaged to the most beautiful of 
young ladies, of a high family; and how, with dimin- 
ishing prospects, his father had offered in sorrow 
(so it was reported) to break off the engagement ; but 
that, Ruth-like, she was too constant to permit it. 
Be it teacher, merchant, or farmer, with him she 
had cast her lot. They were married. Farmer 
Woodward, by constant labor, always helped by 
his good wife, had paid up the old debts, supported 
his father as long as he lived, and had now his nice 


214 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


farm and property, all clear, and some money in the 
bank. How much real poetry there is in almost 
every life! These self-denials, these unremitting 
efforts, these thrifty ways, such as Farmer Wood- 
ward and his wife had followed from day to day for 
years, were a real inheritance, better than gold , to 
their children. 

Donald, whom we have seen as naturally inclined 
to physical indolence, and to a sort of superficial 
way of doing things, was much benefited by the 
revelations of Parker concerning the past life of his 
parents, and he resolves in his heart, somewhat as 
follows: “I will be worthy of my father. I will try 
to do what he was prevented from doing; I will try 
to rise in the world, that my father and my mother 
may be proud of me ! ” 

Worldly ambition! Yes, but mixed up with 
motives very praiseworthy ; a little raised above 
the plane of simple selfishness. 

The end of this March day found them at Nyo- 
ton, without accident, though delayed often by 
small drifts of snow, and occasional strips of bare 
ground, where the snow had blown thin. Sam 
Yardley, who did not teach a school this winter, 
was back in better season, having been in Nyoton 
for a week. 

“ Halloh, Woodward, halloh,” accosted him pleas- 
antly from every side, as he passed groups of stu 
dents going to their “clubs for supper. Sam was 
just locking the door of Twenty-eight, when Donald 
came up the stairs. 


SANDY HOLLOW. 


215 


“Good for you, Don. Huray, huray! ’fraid you 
were not coming. Been getting lonesome this cold 
weather ! ” 

“ I’m glad to s eeyou, Sam. Glad to get back ; hope 
‘ Dan T ucker is not too late for his supper,’ to-night ? ” 
(alluding pleasantly to Sam’s contant song.) 

“ No, old fellow. Put in your bag, and come on 
to the ‘ Sorghum Club.’ Henry Haviland’s smile is as 
calm and refreshing as -ever.” 

Donald receives a warm welcome back at the 
“club.” Poor peers curiously but pleasantly into 
his face, to see if he can catch any indications of 
change. He thinks, “Well, he is a manly boy 
the wear and tear of a winter’s school has taken off 
the flesh, but I guess it has done him good.” No- 
body takes such a constant, unselfish, observing in- 
terest in another, in a companion, as a true Chris- 
tian. He is always feeling for the heart, and trying, 
if ever so little, to uplift. Donald instinctively 
feels this to be Poor’s attitude towards him, and he 
respects him for it, but, of course, cannot yet really 
appreciate or respond with purpose and sympathy. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


HABITS AND INCIDENTS — MORALS, HOW DEGRADED 
IN COLLEGE. 

B EFORE reaching college usually the habits of 
young men are pretty well shaped. The transi- 
tion from Monray to Nyoton was never abrupt. If 
Donald was up early and studied late at Monray, he 
would be likely, sooner or later, to do the same at 
Nyoton. If he was in the habit of close, hard study 
at the Classical School, he would be disposed to 
continue the same at the college. In fact, the in- 
ducements to industry were rather increased with 
his increasing years, so that unless he had injured 
himself by overtaxing his bodily strength and men- 
tal energies before coming to college, a larger num- 
ber of rivals, a more searching method of teaching, 
and the nearer approach of life-prospects, would be 
likely to stimulate his efforts. 

He was a little behind — one week. This is always 
trying. Doing the duty as it comes along, is one 
thing: but doing each day's duty, burdensome 
enough in itself, with the added burden of other 
216 


HABITS AND INCIDENTS. 


217 


work, left over from past neglect or misfortune, is 
quite another thing. It is so to the laboring man, 
to the merchant, mechanic, or student. Still it 
always seemed a stimulus to Donald to have extra 
burdens piled upon him. The truth is, he had grand 
abilities in him, and it was a godsend to him to be 
forced to exertion beyond his natural inclination. 
So, in process of time, he was square with his class, 
with very fair standing. In diligence, in constancy 
of attendance upon prayers, recitations, college ex- 
ercises generally, and also upon the meetings of his 
class and literary society, no fault could be found 
with him, nor with his room-mate, Yardley. Of 
some others of our acquaintance these things could 
not be said. The son of the rich man had card- 
parties and wine-suppers at his room. Sometimes 
his lessons would show great study and indicate un- 
usual talent ; then they would betray sheer neglect 
and stupidity. “ He is talented, but he drinks,” is 
whispered around, even among his college associ- 
ates. Andrew Macomber, also, grows worse and 
worse. He has plenty of brass in his composition, 
and much rough good-humor, so that he manages 
to hitch along through the first term, and enters 
upon the second, but his recitations are poorer and 
poorer, and no amount of strong drink will enable 
him to escape the mortification of constant failures. 
He now gets drunk so often that not only his ap- 
pearance when he comes, and his non-appearance 
at important exercises, bear witness against him, but 


2 1 8 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


the very atmosphere of his room, and his long stu- 
pid sleeps are fully understood by the inspecting 
tutor. At last Andrew comes before the College 
Faculty, and his father is requested to take him 
home for a year. The students say: “He is a con- 
stitutional drunkard ; for did not his father before 
him behave as badly?” There was a story that 
Macomber Senior was once on a spree at the time 
of a funeral, and when the sexton and pall-bearers 
began to lower the dead in his coffin into the newly- 
made grave, Macomber Senior, then a young man, 
having peviously in his drunken frolic stripped him- 
self and jumped into the grave, was there discov- 
ered, apparently dead, in that nude condition. It 
was, however, a sad sight to behold, when Andrew’s 
stricken father walked away from the college-halls, 
with head bowed in shame and sorrow, beside his 
handsome boy, already low in debauchery and dis- 
grace. Donald’s purpose was deepened to keep 
sacredly his pledge to Henry : a Not to touch, taste, 
nor handle strong drink.” 

As has been intimated, the church service was. not, 
as it ought to have been, a source of good to Don- 
ald. He gradually fell into the habit of reading 
books at church, as he saw the rest do, and what 
was probably even worse, into the habit of slyness 
and deception, in order to carry his book or books 
to the students’ gallery without detection. 

There was another prevailing source of demor- 
alization at Nyoton. It was the wood. The college 


HABITS AND INCIDENTS. 


219 


had a general pile ; wood for the Professors, the reci- 
tation-rooms, laboratories, chapels, library, etc. Each 
student was required to buy, prepare, and bring up to 
his room, his own wood ; or when two had one room, 
the two put their wood together. Yardley got the care 
of the Freshmen’s recitation-room, and it was said 
among the students to be a recognized perquisite 
of office ” for the janitor-student to help himself to 
wood, i. e. y he took wood from the wood-closet be- 
low and carried it to his own room above. Yardley 
did this, and Donald acquiesced. Some other stu- 
dents would, however, go further. They would slip 
into the dark closet below and bring up armfuls of 
wood at odd times when no professor or tutor could 
catch them, and some even helped themselves to 
nearly all the wood they needed, all they dared to, 
from the common pile out of doors. This was never 
called stealing — it was “ hooking .” “ I hooked it from 
the Freshman closet,” or “We hooked it from the 
college pile.” It is curious to notice what a low 
standard of morals may prevail in a community of 
young people who are compacted together, and 
turn sins into frolics, and do what they would not 
dream of doing at any other place. And often it is 
the “fun of it" that deceives and betrays new stu- 
dents into tfie vicious practices of the older ones- 
During the “fishing” time for societies, Sam 
Yardley became intimate with the broad-shouldered, 
handsome “Sophs” who had been prominent at the 
“hold-ins.” Their names were Nertox, (Chadwick 


220 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


and Nelson Nertox). They were brothers and were 
commonly called “Chad" and “ Nel " The first 
was usually called “ Old Chad ’’ by his classmates. 

These brothers, rooming in the same hall with 
Woodward and Yardley, were always “ dropping 
in." They let the Freshmen into the mysteries of 
college life. 

One day Chad “ dropped in " to Twenty-eight, and 
the conversation took this turn. 

HI saw you bringing up some wood, Sam, this 
morning." 

“Yes, I get my ‘perquisites/ but Don here don’t 
think he has any title, so he furnishes his half from 
buying it outside, and I was helping him bring it 
up. 

Chad laughed and declared : “You Freshmen are 
scrupulous for awhile, but yovi’ll soon get beyond 
that ! " 

“ How so ? ” asks Sam. 

“ Why, everybody but the ‘ church men ’ hooks 
his wood, or part of it. The students who don’t 
pay down (and few can pay down) have their wood 
charged on their term-bills, so that everybody buys 
some wood to make a show on the term-bill, but the 
rest is ‘ hooked ’ in one way or another. Once we 
had an old goose hung up in our dark' wood-closet, 
and, by the way, that goose was hooked -from old 
Mrs. Fennel’s flock in broad day ; I’ll tell you bout 
that, by-and-by. The Faculty had missed a good 
deal of wood, and as they didn’t find by the charges 


HABITS AND INCIDENTS. 


221 


on the term-bill that the Nertoxes had bought 
what the Faculty thought they ought, suspicion 
fell upon our room. So Professor Pressley comes 
up and knocks, in his usual polite way. He comes 
in, takes off his hat as we rise, and he says : ‘ How 
is your wood closet for repairs ? ’ The old hypocrite — 
he didn’t care for repairs ! He steps to the closet, 
and peers into the darkness, and looks down and 
around ; we were trembling for fear he would look 
up and see that old goose! Nel was most scared, 
though he had nothing to do with its capture. 
‘You haven’t much wood on hand,’ says the Profes- 
sor. ‘ No, sir. We live from hand to mouth.’ Pro- 
fessor smiles and departs, and doubtless wondered 
how we managed to get on with so small a supply 
when so much wood was wanting. The truth is, 
the fellow in the next room was staying out of col- 
lege, ‘keeping school,’ and it being next to ours we 
kept his closet full; and removing a single board 
brought through a few sticks at a time, and then 
put the board back/’ 

“Didn’t Professor Darkcap see the goose at all?” 
asks Sam. 

“ Oh, no ; he never looked up, and it was dark in 
there.' 

“How about that goose story, Nertox?” says 
Donald. 

•‘Well, we do do the strangest things sometimes, 
in college — things that we would never think of do- 
ing at home. Ned Franklin and I were out skylark 


222 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


mg about, just beyond Professor Dooly’s house, 
when we saw a large flock of geese waddling towards 
us from a yard ; you know it was near the pine 
woods. It was in plain sight of two men, who were 
on the top of a house, shingling the roof. I said to 
Franklin, ‘ Ned, let’s carry off one of the geese.’ ‘All 
right, Chad!’ he answers. So we took off our caps 
and hid them under our coats, and then tied our 
handkerchiefs around our heads, and rushed into the 
hissing, squalling flock. I caught a big goose by a 
leg, Ned seized the other leg, and then we ‘ streamed ' 
it for the woods. We hid the old goose, after kill- 
ing it, under a brush heap, and then returned to the 
college with our hats on all right. Ned, in his haste 
to get over a fence on the border of a brook, and by 
my holding back on the goose, had slipped into the 
water, so that he did not look above suspicion. Be- 
fore we come to the college grounds we meet two 
excited men in great haste, running towards us. 
We put on a bold front, and they asked eagerly 
if we had seen two rough fellows running with a 
goose. We said that we had not. They looked 
rather hard at us, as we thought. As soon as they 
were past we made for the college in hot haste. 
That night we went back for our goose, and that 
was the one Professor Pressley came so near hiv 
ing,’ when he inspected the closet.” 

Sam and Donald took great interest in this tale 
ot mischief. Sam said : It was lucky tor Gentle- 
man Nertox and Franklin that they did not get 


HABITS AND INCIDENTS. 


223 


caught — for they would have been dismissed from 
the college for stealing and lying." 

“You’re too hard on us, Sam!” Chad pleads. 
“We secretly sent the poor woman who owned the 
goose more than she could have got in the market ; 
and as for lying, it was only a ruse de guerre , essen- 
tial to our safety.” 

Donald thinks of his grapes experience, and tells 
Chadwick: “You may have your goosy frolics, but 
you don’t catch me in them/’ 

“ Oh, you Freshmen are very moral now" says 
Nertox, “but wait and see what college ways will do 
for you ! ” 

In fact it was not a great while after this before 
one of them did get into mischief. “Sky” Haskell 
and Sam Yardley were taking a walk Saturday after- 
noon, just at dusk, across the Podham river, in the 
suburbs of the neighboring town of Mason, when 
they espied a long plank, supported by wooden 
props, and on it several old-fashioned hives of bees. 
The bees had begun to creep out into the spring 
sunshine at the small slits and apertures in the 
hives, and were buzzing about, not yet venturing 
far from home. It struck “Sky” that it would be 
fun to seize one of those hives and run off with it. 
No sooner thought of than done. So he picks up 
the big hive, and makes for the railway bridge. 
The upper wagon bridge would surely expose him ; 
Sam laughs, coughs, wheezes, and tries to make 
“Sky quit his nonsense, but still follows hard 


224 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


after him. When they come to the bridge, there is 
no planking from joist to joist, only the longitudinal 
sleepers, and the rails on them. These scamps, for 
Sam now helps, begin the crossing by sliding their 
feet along the sleepers beside one of the rails, and 
thus, with infinite trouble, work their way over the 
broad river, and then hasten with their booty towards 
the colleges. Nearing them they strip the honey 
from the hive, and carry it to Sam’s room and hide 
it there. “ Sky ” Haskell is generously disposed, 
and treats his friends. He places a neat piece of 
the comb on a plate and actually knocks at the 
tutor’s room, which is near by, and pleasantly offers 
him some honey. The tutor (not long since he was 
a student himself) smilingly accepts his present, 
probably made no inquiry concerning it, according 
to the old principle of “never look a gift horse in 
the mouth.” 

The owner of the bees never made any fuss 
about his loss. So “ Sky,” Sam, and Don escaped 
the immediate consequences of this naughty prank. 
In college phrase : “ ‘ Sky ’ hooked the hive, Sam 
helped bring home the plunder, and Donald allowed 
it to be harbored in his closet.” 

With such things done in frolic, but really in vio- 
lation of all right teaching, there were added other 
influences that had a bad tendency with Donald at 
this formative period of his life. Card-playing pre- 
vailed. Many and many was the night that Sam and 
Donald sat up with two other students and played 


HABITS AND INCIDENTS. 


225 


different games of cards, when they needed sleep. 
True, they never gambled — Donald never would 
do that — except this, that occasionally they played 
for the cigars for the company. A serious difficulty 
grew out of a game of whist, near the close of this 
spring term. A classmate, Will Bray, whom Donald 
knew pretty well, with Sam Yardley on one side, 
was playing against Nelson Nertox and Donald on 
the other. In the course of the game Will (then a 
little fellow, one of the youngest in the class) ac- 
cused Donald of cheating. He indignantly denied 
it. Will declared, with an oath, that he did cheat . 
Donald let his old temper loose again, swore fiercely 
at Will Bray, and struck him so hard that Will fell 
to the floor. Will, not much hurt, was soon again 
on his feet. The big Nelson Nertox, with Sam 
Yardley, restrained Donald, and took him off to his 
own room, still nerved up with his angry passion. 
The matter was settled up between them the next 
day, but it left its mark upon Donald; and made 
him feel that though he had governed the tiger so 
long, and had supposed that he had him completely 
mastered, it would, however, not do to unchain 
him yet. In fact, afterward, as Donald looked back 
to the last two terms of his Freshman year, he 
thought his conscience must have been asleep. He 
confesses that he and Sam allowed themselves to 
slip into the doing of things that in well-regulated 
society are called not “perquisites of office,’' but 
*■ pilferings by student custom,” not “ ruses de 


226 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


guerre" but out-and-out untruths ; not “ hooking * 
fuel and books, but stealing them. Under the tru- 
est of preaching, the best of teaching, and the 
most consistent of Christian living in the way of 
example, still the students of Nyoton, who were not 
professors of religion, did not have among themselves 
a wholesome standard of morality. Before he was 
really aware of it, Donald had conformed to most of 
the vices of his companions, except the drinking and 
gambling. These last sins really could be laid at the 
door of but few of the students. 

One day, having been much exhilarated by his 
success in debate the night before, Donald was 
speaking near the college-gate with a classmate, 
in an off-hand way, about his opponent in the 
exercise* he said: “The — scoundrel took unfair 
advantage, ’’ etc. Donald preceded scoundrel with 
the adjective used in the usual prayer of pro- 
fane men when they call upon God to curse An- 
other. Henry Haviland Poor was near, and just 
behind the two. 

“Why,*’ says Poor, “I never expected to hear 
such a word as that out of your lips, Woodward ! ” 
laying his hand gently upon his shoulder. 

Donald blushed, but did not reply. The manner 
was so kind, the reproof so timely was offered in so 
brotherly a way, that it made a permanent impres- 
sion upon Donald. He never after that was heard 
to use an oath, excepting in extreme anger, when as 
yet, at odd intervals, he lost his self-control. 


HABITS AND INCIDENTS. . 227 

One Professor, who heard Donald's class in Latin 
during this term, has not been mentioned. It is 
Professor Maple. He is a man of extraordinary- 
size — tall and large. He has a full head, with hand- 
some brown hair, with a few silver threads, a little 
bald at the crown. His head appears as if it had 
been moulded or chiselled, so perfect is its develop- 
ment. He is near-sighted, yet he looks over, under, 
and around the eyes of his glasses, except at his 
books. He is so modest that he cannot speak to an 
audience in a standing posture. As he walks he 
bows his head slightly, as if in deep meditation. 
Professor Maple manages to get acquainted with 
every student, so as to call him by name. Each 
student gets his turn with this Professor. For ex- 
ample, one day when Donald had recited rather a 
poor lesson in Tacitus, Professor Maple said, as the 
class was leaving the room: “ Woodward, I would 
like to see you a moment.” 

Donald says, “Yes, sir,” and stops at his desk, 
thinking the Professor was intending to give him a 
little scolding for his poor lesson. 

“ You lost a week, Woodward ? ” in a little absent- 
minded way, looking below his spectacles. 

“Yes, sir. My school tired me, and I took a week 
to rest.” 

“Oh, that’s right, that’s right. Your parentis 
are good people, Christian people^ Woodward, I 
believe?” he asks, blushing, as if ne might be re- 
pelled. 


228 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“ Oh, yes, sir,” says Donald, “ and my mother 
writes me the best of Christian advice.” 

“ She probably prays for you ? ” he asks, looking 
away, as if talking to himself. 

“ I know she does,” answers Donald, with em- 
phasis. 

“Well, I called you back to get acquainted. I 
have great confidence in a good mother’s prayers. 
That will do for this time, Woodward.” 

Professor Maple was queer, too, in the recitation- 
room. He would follow the translator in a low 
tone, word for word, using his own translation, but 
always commencing-with, “ Yes — very good.” 

For example, to Sam Yardley — “Yardley, trans- 
late.” 

Sam begins : * Rome is surrounded by seven 
lofty heights.” 

“Yes. Very good, Yardley,” and then murmurs 
audibly. '* Rome is situated upon seven small hills.” 

He always managed, when he chose, to ferret out 
any mischief. He could do it as well as a detective. 
Probably he did not purpose to throw a student off 
his guard, but his kindly, modest, confidential man- 
ner was sure to do it. Then, of course, when the 
Professor was wrought up to the task in hand, his 
nervous, unexpected question would be answered, 
and the truth be half out before a deceptive reply 
could be framed. 

One morning, in the Professor’s recitation-room, 
some sulphur had been thrown upon the stove, and 


HABITS AND INCIDENTS. 229 

• 

the room was full of so unpleasant a gas, that he 
decided to give an “adjourn” (as the students call 
such an intermission) for one day. The lesson was 
properly increased and assigned, and the' students 
went off to their rooms in high glee, thinking they 
had gained a decided advantage over Professor 
Maple. But Sophomores warned them not to be 
too sure. Next day, after recitation, Yardley and 
Haskell were detained “just a moment.” He called 
them to his desk, and began by complimenting them 
upon the elegance of their recitations, and advising 
them to translate as much English into Latin as 
they could reasonably do, “ For it was always from 
the best Latin scholars that the Latin parts, such 
as salutatory and valedictory, were to be taken. By 
the way, Mr. Haskell, I understand that Mr. Clair- 
borne, the druggist, sold you that sulphur you 
bought yesterday?” 

He had said “Yes, sir,” before he could control 
himself, and then, coloring deeply, felt that he was 
caught. 

“ That will do, gentlemen. You both were absent 
from morning prayers yesterday ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“That will do. Young men do very thoughtless 
things. Very sorry, very sorry! ” 

The next day the class had to go upon a pledge 
to abstain from producing “adjourns,” to save their 
favorite leaders, Sam and “ Sky,” from rusticating 
for several months with some favored doctor of 
divinity* 


230 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


At the “club” dinner, even Poor smiled at them, 
and said, sportively, “ So you tried your hand with 
Professor Maple ! He never comes out second, 
best.” 

Sam says, “ The old fox ! Who’d ’ave thought 
he was so cunning, with his solemn face, and modest 
ways? ” 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


SUMMER TERM AT NYOTON — SAM YARD LEY’S NOVEL 
— DONALD’S INTRODUCTION TO A YOUNG LADY. 

A FTER spring vacation it was refreshing and de- 
lightful to Yardley and Woodward, returning 
together down the valley of the Podham, to come 
in sight of the college grounds. The maple-trees, cov- 
ered with large green leaves, bordering the numerous 
pathways, the evergreens and shrubs, now presenting, 
their choicest appearance, distributed with studied 
irregularity, and the other shade-trees growing 
around the borders, with their leafy foliage, now 
moving gently in the soft summer breeze, and the 
dark-green carpets of evenly-cut grass — all this gave 
a new aspect in our young students’ vision to Nyo- 
ton. Professors and students seemed to step more 
lightly as they crossed over the almost fairy grounds, 
hither and thither. At the beginning of a term 
everybody has on his best clothes, and his heartiest, 
briskest appearance. The student stands up a lit- 
tle straighter, and holds his head a little higher, and, 
of course, has a lighter heart and happier face be- 

231 


232 DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 

fore the regular care and work of a few weeks have 
sobered him down. “ Helloh, Sam ! Helloh, Don ! ” 
sung out by pleasant, friendly voices, greet their 
ears in every direction as they pass through between 
the short, upright posts at the entrance of the col- 
lege yard. “You’re back in good season ! ” 

“ Oh, yes. Vacation is pleasant, but like the best 
candy, you don’t want too much of it,” says 
Donald. 

“What says Sam?” asks Chadwick Nertox. “ I 
guess he likes to have vacation stretched out?” 

“Why so?” asks Sam, laughingly. 

“Why, you see, a little bird flew over my way and 
whispered a secret into my ears: how that student Sam- 
uel Yardley ; Freshman, of North Renut-town had 
fallen over head and heels in love with a beautiful 
. nymph. You can guess the rest ! ” 

“Good for Sam 1” from several voices. Sam de- 
clares that “ Old Chad is a prophet, in league with 
the ravens. Hurray! Hurray! Hurray! ‘Get out 
of the way, Daniel Tucker — you’re too late to come 
to your supper!’ ” 

“ Haven’t forgot your old song, Sam,” says 
Nertox. “ By-and-by we will have the whole 
novel? ” 

“ The whole novel, is it? I guess you’ll be the 
author, and not /,” says Sam. “ How did you hear 
such nonsense, Chad ? ” 

“ Would you like to have me tell right here before 
these witnesses?” 


SUMMER TERM AT NYOTON. 233 

“ Certainly, Chad. Out with it : for I really be- 
lieve you are sold ! ” 

“ Very well, here goes then ; don’t blame me; for 
you can stop me any time if I am getting too warm. 
Up in our town there is a Methodist church. Before 
the present pastor we had a minister there named — 
well, call it White, or some other color (looking at 
Sam, who begins to redden). That minister had a 
daughter, and her name was the same as the Blessed 
Virgin’s. And I, Chadwick Nertox, have a Sister just 
seventeen, and her name is Sarah. Now, the 
said White, Brown , or some other color, was sent 
by Conference to North Renut. His daughter goes 
. with him. How natural that daughter Mary should 
sit up an hour after getting home from the school- 
house prayer-meeting, and give a description to ‘Dear 
Sarah ’ of what she saw there. Now, if there was a 
student from the celebrated Nyoton there ; if he 
was just in the mood at all times to fall in love ; if 
he sat in a corner and looked more towards the bon- 
net of the said Mary than he did to the minister, 
who is reading about quite another Mary; and if 
the said Mary caught his admiring eyes peering at 
her eyes which are beneath her bonnet, more than 
once — how natural that she should just say in her 
postscript : ‘ By the way, I had almost forgotten ; 

there is a student here, a Mr. Yardley. I shouldn’t 
wonder if he liked me. I caught him looking at 
me, when I came out of the meeting, at the door; 
and I just bowed a little, and didn’t he blush! Ask 


234 DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 

your brother about him, and write me — do, please.” 

“You scamp!” cries *Sam. “You cover your tale 
with such a coating of truth that it is easily swal- 
lowed. A courtship can’t have gone far when 
a fellow hasn’t even had a chance to speak to his 
sweetheart ! ” 

“There’s where I have you, Sam. Did you ever 
see two deaf mutes married? They get through 
the whole arrangement without speaking a word.” 

“Well, Chad, I perceive you understand the 
courting business better than / do. But Don and I 
are hungry; let us put our ‘duds’ (valises and 
bundles) in Twenty-eight, and then we’ll do justice to 
the good things at the ‘ club.’ ” 

Chad and Nelson Nc^tox, Sky Haskell, and Ned 
Franklin had joined the “ Sorghum Club” this term, 
and Stephen Curtis was back from his rustication. 
The Seniors of the club had withdrawn to try a more 
expensive boarding-place for the last term of their 
course. Sam said, “ This was to polish ’em off, and 
fit ’em for respectable society ! ” This was after the 
company had assembled, and were discussing the 
appearance of the new faces at the club. 

Henry Haviland shakes hi^ head, with his benevo- 
lent smile. “That is not fair to us, Yardley; don’t 
you think we have as good emery as anybody has?” 

“ Oh, yes, the emery s good, but it’s too soft and 
fine to grind down flints with. They’ve got two 
rasps in the shape of old maids over there! ” 

“You ungallant creature,” cries Stephen Curtis, 


SUMMER TERM AT NYOTON. 


235 


‘‘you don’t know what you say. They use some- 
thing finer than rasps or emery ; it is called in the 
country ‘ soft-soap ; ’ that’s the stuff for Seniors.” 

“Well enough, Curtis; perhaps it will cleave 
to some of them when they depart,” says Donald. 

“Certain to do it,” says Nelson, “for I hear that 
two of the Seniors have already given in their adhe* 
sion, to be married at the same time in the fall.” . . . 

So the students spar, and chat, and rally, arid 
attempt to pun. Occasionally the warmest discus- 
sion will spring up at the club. It is usually when 
some unusual excitement has previously arisen at 
the college. Donald has all along taken real com- 
fort at the club. Henry Haviland Poor’s ability 
to preserve cheerful order, allay any over-excite- 
ment, and repress any improper language or allusion, 
had really given to this “ club ” the atmosphere of 
home. Poor always seemed to Donald fearfully 
tame, yet he noticed that everybody respected him, 
yielded to his quiet will, and, when Donald thought 
about it, he wondered at the influence and power 
that he so silently and unpretentiously exerted. It 
was really his moral, or spiritual power. His tal- 
ents were not jewels of the first water, but they 
were complete and finished. No other character at 
the “club” was yet fully moulded. The others 
were in process of forming, or in a negative condi- 
tion. His was formed, and in a positive condition. 
Poor had a steady aim to put every soul to rights 
that Providence brought within the circle of his in- 


236 DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 

fluence. Hence he made each young man a study, 
when each was busied about his own concerns. He, 
moreover, kept praying for daily divine help, to en- 
able him to sow the seeds of a permanent peace in 
each heart. The wonder was, at his age, that at 
twenty-four this completeness of wisdom could be 
found in him. Really, Poor’s college life was to 
Donald the very best material for remoulding and 
pblishing his jagged temper. It was a perennial 
influence which, like the wind and sunshine, 
gradually, insensibly wore down the flinty hills of 
his anger-prone soul to a useful, fertile smoothness; 
not, of course, sapping its strength or impairing its 
vigor. 

The term is soon progressing in its usual order. 
Seniors are eager to complete their course, and be 
gone to try their hands at the game of real life ; 
Juniors quite as eager to step into the honored 
places vacated. To be at the head of anything de- 
lights men. It is a homely proverb, “ It is better to 
be the head of a mouse than the tail of a rat," but 
it is true. There are for Junior inheritance Senior 
seats, Senior rooms, Senior hats. Senior canes, and 
what not ? And the approaches to these things are 
surer now. But nothing (except the real thing) can 
surpass the sweet feeling of relief that the Fresh- 
men feel at the speedy prospect of their promotion ; 
for they are to lose a burden and gain a blessing. 
The burden of being the butts of the fun of a whole 
college they will drop. The blessing of having 


SUMMER TERM AT NYOTON. 237 

somebody beneath them (there are many things less 
sweet to the human heart than this sign of promo- 
tion) will be their own. All classes will, at the end 
of this term, have experienced an epoch in college 
life. Of course, then, as it takes daily examinations, 
weekly compositions, speakings, reviews, and a grand 
annual examination to relieve the burdens and bring 
the blessings, our students are pretty busy. Some 
few have fallen hopelessly behind. These go off on 
long rides at improper times, engage, in all the 
thousand and one acts of dissipation and mischief 
that go to make up their history of college days, 
and end by being expelled outright, or in being 
dropped out at the next examination. Only three 
of Donald’s class succeeded in thus permanently 
disgracing their college, their families, and them- 
selves, during his course. But, as a general rule, in- 
dustry and attention were, during this summer term, 
the order of the day throughout the college. 

Yardley and Woodward were among those to 
speak on the “prize declamation.” This exercise 
was to be in a public hall in the village of Nyoton, 
where all the class exhibitions were held. It was 
to be in the evening. Ten students were to speak 
— five Freshmen and five Sophomores — and the pieces 
were not to exceed fifteen minutes each. The house 
on this occasion was always well filled, for students 
were permitted to bring their friends. That meant 
that each unemployed student who chose escorted 
one or two ladies. When it was a young lady, the 


238 DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 

mother of the young lady was very properly invited, 
and almost invariably came. 

Donald selected “The Defence of Paul Clifford,” 
for his declamation, and Sam took the speech of the 
“ Roman Gladiator.” They went off together during 
every favorable opportunity to rehearse their pieces 
to each other. But as they were one day “over- 
hauled ” by Chad and Nelson Nertox, and laughed 
at for making of the pine woods a “howling 
wilderness,” the Saturday next preceding the Fri- 
day of the public declamation, they steered off in 
another direction than before. They crossed the 
Podham bridge, and turning to the right, went down 
river and into a wood below the town of Mason. 
They had selected a safe place, and then each had 
heard the other’s declamation, and made all due 
criticism of voice, manner, and gesture, even to the 
position of the uneasy feet, and awkward, placeless 
hands. They had started on their return when, 
coming to the road, they met face to face two ladies, 
apparently mother and daughter. When the young 
men first saw them the younger was leaning upon 
the elder, and limping, as if badly hurt. As all were 
evidently bound in the same direction, the young 
men having to turn to their right up the road along 
which the ladies were coming, and as they were not 
two rods off, Donald thought he would venture to 
speak to them and offer his services. Therefore he 
said, “ Ladies, can we help you? ” 

The elder said, pleasantly: “No, I guess not. 


SUMMER TERM AT NYOTON. 


239 


Eva has met with a mishap ; she stepped on a 
crooked stick, which flew up, and she has sprained 
her ankle.’* 

‘ We can assist you as well as not. The young 
lady is very pale „ let her lean on me , to, rest you ?” 

The elder lady, who was already very tired, and 
who doubtless thought she could trust these young 
men, judging from their frank, open countenances, 
as far as to receive their kindly-offered escort, said : 
“ Perhaps this is best. Eva, take the young man’s 
arm, or better, put your hand on his shoulder, while 
he assists you to walk, for you’ve some way to go.” 

Sam took the ladies’ basket of flowers, (for they 
had been out near the wood, gathering wild flowers), 
and all proceeded. “ Eva,” as the lady called her, 
smiled pleasantly, thanked Donald, and timidly ac- 
cepted his kind offer. 

It was less than a half mile to the house — distance 
quite long enough for the elder lady to say: “ I am 
the wife of Mr. Snow, the superintendent of the 
Mason Mills, and this is my niece, Miss Eva Jasper. 
Her parents live in Rhodes ; she is here, during her 
vacation, on a visit ; just came, and I’m real sorry 
for this hurt to spoil her good time ! ” 

“Oh, auntie, this is nothing; only a sprain; hope 
it will be well to-morrow.” 

At the gate the young men were invited to come 
into the house — a nice story and a half cottage, to 
the right of the road, and perhaps forty feet from 
it. They went, however, only as far as the door, 


240 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


and delivered up their burdens (Donald’s was hardly 
a burden at all) to Mr. Snow, who had come upon 
the porch to inquire anxiously what had happened. 

Mrs. Snow explains quickly. 

“ Come in, young men,” says Mr. Snow. “ Much 
obliged for your courtesy and help to the ladies.” 

“Very welcome, sir,” says Donald, blushing. 

Sam declares, “ We are glad to have the chance 
to. do so little.” They decline to come in. 

“ What may I call your names?” 

“ Donald Woodward and Sam Yardley. I am 
Donald Woodward.” 

“ I have met your fathers ; both of them,” says 
Mr. Snow. 

“ Good-evening, sir.” 

“ Good-evening.” 

The young men then withdrew, raising their hats. 

“ It was quite an adventure, wasn’t it, Don? ” re- 
marks Sam, as soon as they are by themselves. 

“Yes.” 

“ Lucky the young lady fell to you, and not to me.” 

“ How so, Sam ? ” 

“Why, you see that old Chad was more than 
half right. I am about half seas over in love with 
Mary Brown, and I wouldn’t mind one bit you’re 
having an Eva to match my Mary.” 

“Shame on you, Sam! A little common polite- 
ness don’t at once end in a love-match ! ’Twouldn’t 
do at all to presume on the acquaintance even to 
call again.” 


SUMMER TERM AT NYOTON. 


241 


* You’ll see young man,’ says Sam. “ Mr. Snow 
knows our folks, and 1 11 bet he 11 invite us to -his 
house. 

“.I do not believe it.'’ Donald rather hoped he 
would in his heart, for somehow the quiet voice, the 
gentle manner., half-diffident and half-confiding, of 
this young lady added to the pressure of her hand 
upon his shoulder, had left more than an ordinary 
impression. So, resisting all such impulses, he de- 
clares positively : “ I do not believe it ! ” 

It is a little remarkable on what small things the 
events of a whole life turn. We call them acci- 
dents ; those who appear to live in the closer sym- 
pathy and communion with the Divine mind always 
call them Providences. Notice now a few such 
“ small things ” in the life (a very even, common 
life it is) of our young friend and new acquaintance, 
Eva Jasper. 

After Eva had been bolstered up on the lounge, 
her foot and ankle properly bathed in arnica and 
wrapped in clean linen by her anxious aunt, the 
latter took up some fancy-work and sat near by the 
lounge to keep Eva company, and her uncle Snow 
sat obliquely, half-concealing one of the front win- 
dows, reading his paper. 

Eva glances past her uncle to the beautiful picture 
out of doors. The village of Nyoton, with its wide 
streets and white houses, covers the gentle slope to 
the river. The streets are bordered with thick foli- 
age The spires and roofs are bright in the evening 


2|2 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


.sunlight. She glances beyond to the fine background 
the .picture now has, by the richer coloring from the 
denser foliage and larger buildings of the college re* 
serve. She says to her aunt: “That is pretty!" 
pointing to the picture. “Yes, dear." Her aunt 
passes at once, by association, from the sight of the 
colleges, to think of the students, and thence of the 
two who escorted them home after the accident. 
She says: “What did you think of those young 
men, Eva?" 

“ I thought the one who carried your basket had 
a good deal of fun and mischief in him. It was 
queer to be leaning on the shoulder of a young man, 
and be held up by him, wasn’t it ? My opinion is, 
Mr. Donald Woodward (that’s his name, isn’t it?) 
will get laughed at and teased." 

“ O, no, Eva , I guess not ; you couldn’t walk a step, 
and I was nearly ‘ beat out.’ It was perfectly natural 
and polite in young Woodward. He’d be no man if 
he had not done just as he did. What did you 
think of him, Eva?" 

“He s nice enough," she says, coloring a little. “ I 
was more worried about the other one — what’s his 
name, uncle? Yardstick' s all I can think of." 

Mr. Snow says: “Yardley! child. I know his 
father very well. He is a very fine man, and Mr. 
Woodward is one of the most respectable farmers 
in the Podham Valley." 

Eva now catches a glimpse of the glassy river, 
and thinks how it flows past her home at Rhodes, 


SUMMER TERM AT NYOTON. 


243 


and thence out into the bay beyond. Following her 
thoughts, she says: 

v Auntie I was sitting with mother and Lilly, busy 
with some crochet-work, making a white comforter 
for our little Jessie, when the whiteness of the yarn 
took my attention. I said white as snow. I then 
raised my eyes, and looking out of the window, saw 
the snowdrops in the front yard, and I then 
thought of uncle, auntie, and Hattie Snow. (Here 
comes Hattie now, at the gate, with her cheeks all 
aglow.) Well, I said, ‘ Mamma, let me go up to 
Mason, and make a short visit ? ’ Papa had just then 
stepped into the room, and asked, ‘ Where do you 
want to go, Eva?' Lilly answered, ‘Oh, papa, she 
wants to go up to Mason, and thinks she wants to 
see Auntie Snow, but I guess she wants to go to the 
exhibition with some of the students/ ‘ Don’t be- 
lieve it, papa; I never thought of anything but 
how pleasant ’twould be to make auntie and Hattie 
a visit.' ‘Ah, you speak just in time. I’m going to 
Nyoton on business to-morrow, so if you can get 
up early, you can go with me, and I will drop you 
at Mason.’ ‘ That is good, Eva/ says mother. ‘ I 
am glad for you.. You’d better take your new dress, 
for perhaps you’ll go to the exhibition with Sarah/ 
(meaning Mrs Snow). ‘Tell Sarah you ought to be 
out of doors, as you re just out of school.’ So 1 
turned up this morning. We’ve had our nice walk, 
and — don’t tell Lit about the students, will you, 
Aunt Sarah ? ” 


244 DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 

Hattie coming into the room from up-stairs (she 
had been in, kissed her cousin, and ran out) hears 
only the last words, but cries out: “ I will, I will” 

“You will what, you little witch?” 

“Why, I’ll tell Lil about the students. I just 
heard on my way home from school how you had 
sprained your ankle, and that probably two students 
had frightened the horse; that the carriage was 
tipped over, and that the students had helped you 
and mamma home ! ” 

“What a story! We only took a walk; didn’t have 
any horse and carriage. Who told you such a ridi- 
culous tale?” asked her mother. 

Hattie (about twelve years old, now smoothing her 
papa’s hair,) says : “ Who told me ? Why little 
Johnnie Tattler, who tells me all the news at the 
corner of the next street, every day. You know 
Johnnie, mamma, that little four-year-old urchin 
that wears a jacket and red shirt, no hat, and bare 
feet, and begs a penny of papa when he runs and 
opens the gate for the carriage to come in ? ” 

Eva herself is not yet sixteen. She is, however, 
a woman in height, and being the eldest at her own 
home, and much trusted and depended on by her 
mother, has the manners of a girl two years older 
than she is. Eva is never called “pretty,” or 
“beautiful,’’ but she is handsome. Her figure is 
tall and slender, and her movement quick and 
graceful. Her head, covered with abundant dark- 
brown hair, verging to shiny black, now combed 


SUMMER TERM AT NYOTON. 


245 


back smoothly, shows a fine model. The forehead 
is broad and pretty high ; the brow slightly arching ; 
the nose rather large to be regular, but not notice- 
ably prominent ; the eyes large, very dark, but 
very expressive, flashing as they do under their 
long, quick-moving lashes. Her snowy neck is 
rather slender, and a little long for perfect symmetry, 
yet erect. Eva, though tall and of slight build, never 
yielded to that feeling that most tall girls do, a sort 
of unconscious desire to get down to the same 
height as their companions, which causes them to 
bend forward, or throw their heads forward, till the 
handsomest necks are on at an angle ol delormity. 

Eva Jasper’s worth was not thought of by her 
friends in connection with her form and figure, so 
much as by her character and accomplishments; but 
it is better to leave any comment upon these richer 
beauties till our story less abruptly evolves them. 
In fact, of a girl at fifteen, though, as with the boy, 
there is a foreshadowing, who can predict the results 
of^few more years of human experience? The 
character is yet in embryo, and the accomplishments 
only budding into promise. 

After their lessons are prepared for Monday morn- 
ing, for as yet Donald and Sam avoid studying on 
the Sabbath, the young men get into a pleasant chat 
as they look into their bright, cheerful fire. Sam’s 
feet are-onjdio^dund table, and Donald’s are straight 
out in another chafr, while his elbow rests on the 
table, both facing the blaze in their Franklin stove. 


246 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“I believe, Sam, you are getting sentimental — 
much given to the B's .” 

“What do you mean, Don, the blues ?” 

“Oh, no, to Byron, to Burns, and to Bulwer! I 
guess you must be in love. I was once dead in love, 
so I know a little how it is.” 

“ Now, that’s a good fellow, tell us about it,” says 
Sam, “ I’ll reciprocate — hurray, hurray ! ” 

Donald then gives him a brief account of the 
time he had with Jeanie Mark, and how it ended. 
Yardley is much interested, and asks a good many 
questions, evidently desirous to map out his own 
course. 

“ I think ‘ the mitten ’ has done you a world of 
good, Don, but I b’lieve ’twould kill me.” 

Then Sam Yardley, half joking, half in earnest, 
gives to Donald a detailed account of the manner of 
his courtship. He has watched her, he has followed 
her, he has looked at her through the window, he 
has gone to meetings and waited hours just to look 
at her bonnet and her graceful figure as she went 
home; but he has never ventured to declare his 
passion, not even to speak to her. He can talk with 
the other girls freely enough, but he is afraid that 
his tongue will just stammer or stick fast to the 
roof of his mouth, so that he has not even sought 
an introduction. 

“What a queer one you are, Sam Yardley, sure 
enough ! Some brainless idiot will come along, and 
carry off your Mary, and with a broken heart all you 


SUMMER TERM AT NYOTON. 247 

can ever do will be to write verses about her, your 
Mary : ' 

‘ You don t know what you’re talking about, Don 
Woodward. Do you suppose such an angel as Mary 
Brown is. would receive attentions from a dunce?” 

“ May be not ; but I mean, for all you are doing to 
hinder it. Besides, what’s the odds to you whether 
a dunce or a philosopher carries off the prize ? ” 

“ Well ! ’ (after a few minutes’ profound reflection) 
“Weli. Don , you can dash right ahead so; you must 
come over and help a fellow, next vacation. But 
mind your p's and q s, you rascal. You musn’t make 
game of me, and cut me out. We must follow the 
new lead, as the miners say. Who knows but that 
this Miss Eva among the Snows — ” 

“Hold up, Sam. It will not do to talk in that 
direction. I think it would be wrong to discuss 
her]' Donald says, coloring a little. 

*' I believe you are already half in love, anyhow, 
Don Woodward ; or you wouldn’t be so precise and 
testy.” 

Here the subject dropped by tacit consent, and 
the young men retired. Donald lay a long time 
awake that night, listening to the ticking of his clock 
on the mantel. He would unconsciously run over 
the events of the day. He would again feel the 
touch upon his shoulder, and recall the sly, quick 
glance at his face, when she said, ** Thank you,” at 
parting. Then he would catch himself at this sin- 
gular work, and begin to count, or try some other 


248 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


experiment to get to sleep. At last he dropped 
away into a profound slumber. On awaking about 
dawn he was conscious of having had pretty and de- 
licious visions of impossible scenes, but in them all 
the dark-eyed, graceful Eva was mingling. Donald 
owned to himself that a disturbing element had 
come into his life, and like all shocks, the more 
powerful from its suddenness. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE EXHIBITION — PRIZE DECLAMATIONS. 

D ONALD and Sam had practised the art of 
speaking for the last week, with laughable as- 
siduity. In the pine woods, and the oak groves , in 
Nyoton, and in Mason , in rehearsal before Profes- 
sor Dooly, and in their own room; before the mir- 
ror, and before each other. Sam would get very 
earnest, but could not run his voice up the gamut, 
having besides his undertone but two or three well- 
defined notes that he could sound. That is why 
Sam’s song of Dan Tucker *' always created so 
much amusement, because he gave the words in 
jolly tones, but could not render the tune. 

Donald's old singing practice and ear of some tune- 
culture gave him more facility in conforming to the 
suggestions o' ms eloquent Professor. His compass 
of voice which he rather prided himself in did 
make him a pleasing speaker, for he had, with the 
variety this power enabled him to give, plenty of 
earnestness, plenty of strength of lungs, and quite 
enough of youth’s enthusiasm and awkwardness 

249 


250 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


to create sympathy for him in an audience, par- 
ticularly where there was a goodly sprinkling of 
young ladies. 

Perhaps Donald has impressed the reader by his 
previous exhibits as more somber than he really 
was. A smile (though it was not quite a complete 
one) usually rested on his face. He would be the 
one in a crowd that a poor woman would first ap- 
peal to for direction in a strange place. When he 
spoke, his face was always animated or express- 
ive of his emotions of joy or sadness, of humor 
or solemnity, of love or fierce hatred. “ The right 
kind of a young man to make an orator of,” people 
said. 

Sam exceeded Donald in language and in correct- 
ness of pronouncing words, and probably in breadth 
and depth of conception (this latter would hardly be 
judged of in declamation). Students keep all these 
fine distinctions and contrasts under discussion, and 
carry into after-life formed impressions of one an- 
other, that often have to be or ought to be corrected. 
For we know that, contrary to rule, many an un- 
promising, even scurvy, sapling becomes a glorious 
tree. Boys like Donald and Sam do not yet know 
themselves or their powers, so that they catch at 
every little meed of praise from the skilled, and 
treasure up every mark of appreciation and word of 
commendation they can get. They write the hope 
thus kindled in journals; tell it to friends; put- it in 
letters to mothers and brothers, and, indeed, this 


PRIZE DECLAMATIONS. 


251 


hope has a warming power in the young bosom to 
keep it in some order, and render it habitable for 
the inpirations of genius, if, forsooth, inspirations 
are indeed to come in there at all. The Friday — 
the exhibition day — the test day — the prize day — 
came at last. Donald did not buy a new coat, but 
the college tailor (if it is proper to call their dumpy 
clothes-cleaner and mender a tailor) had removed 
every spot of dirt. He had on this very neat coat, 
a bright standing collar not quite to his ears, well 
supported by a stocky cravat. The shoemaker had 
squared up the heels of his boots, that were apt to 
wear much on the outer corners. They had on an 
extra polish, and his well-fitting pants were not too 
short to come pretty well down footward. One 
stray lock of his handsome brown hair falls over his 
large, full forehead, and touches the edge of his 
handsome, rosy cheek, as he removes his cap at one 
of the hall doors, and steps (diffidence and pride con- 
tending in his breast) to the seats in front, which are 
left vacant by the ushers for the performers. The 
President is on the platform, with two or three of 
the professors. The judges* distinguished citizens, 
or alumni present, are in the second row of seats. 
Ten students from the two classes which furnish 
the speakers are walking briskly up and down, with 
their very white linen, and pretty rosettes, with 
flowing ribbons, upon the lappels of their coats. 
They are seating the coming groups of people 
thronging in at both doors, filling both aisles, and 


252 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


filling up the long seats to the right and left. Go 
where you will, look at the British stateliness. 
French winsomeness, Spanish intensity, or Italian 
softness, among woman-kind, and you will not 
anywhere find a happier collection, of proper dig- 
nity, intelligence, and wondrous variety of real 
beauty, than at the broad, deep, well-lighted public 
hall of Nyoton ! The audiences of Nyoton knew 
how to act, as well as look. They were trained, and 
the training descended in its doings and propieties 
from generation to generation. When to raise the 
fans and use them gently. What a flutter of grace- 
ful motion ; what a sweet perfume flies on invisible 
pinions ; what flashes of brilliants ; what floral riv- 
alry of precious gardens ! Loud applause is to be re- 
pressed. Yet the kerchiefs have magic power, tell- 
ing motions ; • eyes can brighten and sparkle, and 
glance, freighted with delicious meaning; heads can 
bow slightly, with unmistaken assent and approval, 
and be backed by smiles that thrill, imparting a 
gladness to be remembered. Well-trained, well-be- 
haved, sympathetic, appreciative, even benevolent, 
as this audience always had been, still it was an 
ordeal of trial to our young men. 

Donald sat in his seat, conscious of the presence 
behind him, as he looked ahead, while one y two , and 
three were called; a Sophomore; a Freshman; a 
Sophomore, in succession. He tried to think over 
his piece. The blood came into his head : his cheeks 
burned with extraordinary heat, and he dreaded the 


PRIZE DECLAMATIONS. 


253 


President’s solemn call. His heart beat, almost 
thumped, when the word rang out so very clear and 
passionless, “ Woodward ! ” 

Donald rose quickly, and the reaction set in at 
once: by the time he reached the platform he had 
plenty of self-command. He bowed to the Presi- 
dent, then turning he encounters the multitude of 
attentive faces. For just one short moment he 
notices, midway of the house, to his left, three per- 
sons that he sort of hoped and sort of feared might 
be there. It was Mr. and Mrs. Snow, and Eva Jas- 
per between them. From that short moment other 
judges, people, prizes, etc., passed from his con- 
sciousness. Donald was speaking to or for Eva Jas- 
per! And he never spoke better. He pleaded the 
cause of Paul Clifford with an earnestness, energy, 
and pathos that few juries could resist. 

When he closed a murmur of applause ran 
through that decorous audience. Hands would 
clap and handkerchiefs wave. As Donald bowed to 
the people in retiring, he thought Eva’s large eyes 
had filled with tears r and that her- face betokened 
by its flushed, excited appearance no ordinary inter- 
est It might be a self-deception, this thought, a 
mere fancy, but somehow it made him happy. 

The students laughed a little as Sam sauntered 
to his place on the stage, and gave the President his 
nod, and they did not do much better when he rep- 
resented himself as the “Roman Gladiator,*’ and 
told how he had bared his arms to the conflict. Yet 


254 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


his noble head, genial smile and pleasant voice, 
with a slight lisp that never detracts from a youth, 
won all hearts, so that he too had as much favor 
as any speaker except Donald. The exercises are 
over. The Judges meet and decide. Donald Wood- 
ward gets the second prize. The first was awarded 
to that most eloquent of students, Charles Singer, a 
Sophomore, who gave constant care and study to 
his delivery. He had absorbed the attention of the 
audience from his commencing, and thrilled them by 
a selection of startling pictures from “ Faust.” His 
manner and voice, enunciation and pronouncing, 
afforded an exhibition of complete culture. So he 
deserved and obtained the first prize. The prizes are 
announced, and then the audience is dismissed. An 
usher brings a note to Donald, as he is receiving 
congratulations. He opens it with trembling fin- 
gers, and is touched with new joy as he reads: 

“ Dear Mr. Woodward, — Come over and see 
us, with your friend Yardley. We congratulate you 
both. The prize was well earned. 

‘‘Yours etc., 

“Wm. Snow.” 

There is much talk and high excitement as the 
students get back to the Colleges. It is all gone 
over with and talked about. Sam says: “It struck 
me as very funny for me to exhibit my graceful pro- 
portions and motions on the stage, and I was sure 
the President smiled at me, and he came near mak- 


PRIZE DECLAMATIONS. 


255 


ing me forget my piece; but, thank fortune, my 
sweetheart wasn’t there. It would have killed me 
quite! Don, how did you survive it?” 

“Don’t you see I am well? I don’t see why 
sweethearts should kill anybody ! ” 

“ So, I see, you rogue,” says Sam, ‘ but I am glad 
they came. The ankle must be well again.” 

“You were right, Sam, about their inviting us 
over there. Just read this note of Mr. Snow’s.” 

“All right, hurray* hurray! I have half a mind 
to give you ‘ Uncle Daniel ’ again, Don. Remember, 
‘ faint heart never won fair lady !’ ” 

“ How unreasonable and fast you are, Sam Yardley. 
Can’t a gentleman invite two young men to his 
house without any notion being entertained — ” 

“Oh, yes, of course, Don. You’re not in love! 
I think you’ll live and die a glorious bachelor! 
Have a bed for me, though, and a few extra cigars !” 

“All right, Samuel. Many a solemn truth has 
been spoken in joke. The latch-string will be out, 
and if there are not two beds, why, I will take the 
lounge.” 

The next day after the exhibition was Saturday. 
The Freshmen were naturally weary. The lessons 
of the morning, recited to Professor Maple, were not 
quite as good as usual. Professor Dooley, probably 
tired himself, was not at the chapel to meet the 
Freshmen for class speaking, so that they had “an 
adjourn ” from that exercise. 

Donald and Sam were glad of the rest this morn- 


256 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


ing, for they both felt not a little languid after the 
excitement of the evening before. The dinner at the 
“ Sorghum Club ” is over, and the young men are 
walking slowly and thoughtfully back to their room, 
when Sam says : 

“Why not try another walk to Mason, Don?” 

“Very good. I don’t care if we do, Sam. We 
can make a formal call, now that Mr. Snow has so 
kindly invited us.” 

“Well, Don, to make it decently formal, we must 
slick up a little. You’ll have to shave off a little of 
that fuzz, or you’ll be taken for a boy ! ” 

“ I b’lieve you’d make fun at a funeral, Sam — joke 
the mourners, and sing ‘Dan Tucker’ at the 
grave ! ” 

“You don’t know,. Don Woodward, how it is 
inside ; how I cover up my real feelings by jolliness ; 
for my prospects are gloomy and sad. I’ve only 
that postscript of ‘Old Chad’ to feed upon, and 
he is so full of the ‘ old one ’ that you never know 
whether he is in joke or in earnest. I am in a funny 
dilemma. Shall I write to her, or shall I risk it till 
you can get acquainted and introduce me? I tell 
you, Don, the world always goes the smooth way 
for you, and the rough way for me.” 

“ How so, Sam?” asks Donald. 

“Why,” says Sam, “just to think of meeting 
Mary Brown with a sprained ankle, leaning on her 
Aunt Rachel, and my escorting her home so ten- 
derly! then of an invitation from Parson Brown to 


PRIZE DECLAMATIONS. 


257 


Mr. Sam Yardley. ‘Come to the parsonage, and 
bring your chum,’ hurray! hurray! It’s too good 
to look for ! ” 

“ Now, Sam, none of your nonsense this after- 
noon. We must behave as well as we know 
how.” 

They soon have properly slicked themselves 
up, and look as tidy as Sam and Donald ever do 
look; for somehow Donald’s clothes never do fit 
perfectly; you cannot mistake him for a tailor, 
dry-goods clerk, nor a fop ; and as for Sam, the 
closer the “ fit,” the more laughable the picture. 
His head would be large, his body long, and his 
boots bulge. Put his hat on the back of his 
head, and give him a cane, and you have the char- 
acter complete. 

The two young men saunter along this beautiful 
afternoon, with their eyes and ears open, and their 
hearts light. The trees, the yards filled with flowers, 
the occasional pictures of students visiting the young 
ladies of the village, seen in the doorways and win- 
dows, the sounds of happy voices, and of now and 
then a piano playing its best selections for student- 
listeners; all this is seen, heard, and commented on. 
The old bookstore for college text-books, where gray, 
thin, pinched with small profits, the aged proprietor 
runs to wait upon the saucy throngs of merciless 
young men, -so many of whom buy liberally but pay 
miserably. This is always seen and talked about by 
every down-town walker, Sam and Donald not ex- 


258 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


cepted. They go by the post-office ; stop in pass- 
ing, of course — who does not ? 

“A letter for Samuel Yardley, sir?” 

The grizzly functionary takes a squint at Sam’s 
warm, pleasant, laughing face, turns his pigeon- 
holes on their swivel, looks at the Y apartment, and 
answers with decision, “No letter for Samuel 
Yardley ! ” 

Sam says to Donald, as they proceed, “ I didn’t 
know but her father or uncle might have written me 
a short note ! ” 

“You are a trump, Sam, anyhow ! ” 

Thus they enjoy themselves, talking sense and 
nonsense, till they have crossed over the bridge into 
Mason. As they are threading their way along the 
streets towards Mr. Snow’s residence, the situation 
begins to seem graver to Donald, and an unusual 
feeling of embarassment seizes upon him. “True, 
Mr. Snow has invited him and Sam, but what will 
he do and say when he gets there? How will he be 
received,” etc., etc. These thoughts are passing 
through his mind, and he unconsciously hastens his 
gait. Sam, who easily gets out of breath, especially 
on the up-grade from the river, calls out to him : 
w Hold on, Don; you are too much in a hurry; no 
use to go into battle out of breath ! ” 

“ I see you understand it, Sam,” says Donald, 
* you could fight a good battle.” 

“ Oh, yes, other people’s ; I only balk on my own.” 

“ All right, you must help my fight to-day, for I 


PRIZE DECLAMATIONS. 


> 


259 


don’t know how I shall behave, or what I shall 
say. 

They came at last to the gate. A glimpse of 
them from within prepares the way, so that nobody 
is surprised. The household, seen through the side 
window, is in very much the* same position as we left 
them the week before, except that Eva has a book, 
Mrs. Snow her sewing-work, and Hattie^ sitting in 
lap, is entertaining her father with some more of 
Johnnie Tattler’s gossip. When the door-bell sounds 
Mrs. Snow rises, goes to the door, and welcomes the 
young men, in her own pleasant, reassuring style. 
Eva and Mr. Snow rise to welcome them. Hattie’s 
eyes twinkle with mischief as her father presents 
her as “ my Snow-blossom, young gentlemen,” but 
she does nothing and says nothing, only gives her 
hand first to one and then the other, and looks each 
straightly and smilingly in the face. 

When they sit down Sam sits by Mr. Snow and 
Hattie, and leaves Donald to the two ladies. 

“ How is your ankle, Miss Jasper?” 

“ Oh, it is nearly well. I couldn’t lose the exhi- 
bition for it.” 

“ I saw you there from the stage.” 

“You did? How nice to be noticed by such an 
orator! ” 

Donald tried to see if she were in earnest — did 
not know just what to reply when Mrs. Snow came 
to his relief. (The eyes of maternal experience are 
quick.) 


26 o 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“Yes, Mr. Woodward, we were all delighted with 
your speech.” 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Snow. I did my best, and am 
glad you liked it.” 

“ Eva thinks you ought to have had the other 
piece,” she continues. * 

“How so, Miss Jasper?” asks Donald, with no 
little consternation. “ Do you think I am built for 
a gladiator?” 

“ Oh, no, Mr. Woodward !” says Eva. “ I meant 
the other — the extract from ‘Faust.’ There is so 
much feeling and passion in your voice and man- 
ner,” she ventures to say, timidly and sincerely, 
as Donald thinks. 

“ I would like to try that, but it requires great 
power and great culture of voice to do it well, and 
I am yet too scared — ” 

Sam hears this (he has been describing a “ hold- 
in” to Hattie and her father) and sings out without 
regard to consequences. “ Of course, that’s it, Miss 
Jasper, for Don is a great coward ! ” 

Donald flushes almost in anger at Sam’s abrupt 
fun, that comes, as he thinks, without regard to time 
or place. He answers, with a slight irony in his 
tone : 

“ It takes Sam Yardley to put all fear to flight ! ' 

“ O, yes! ’ says Sam, “that’s what 1 want. Don 
would be as happy as a clam if he wasn t afraid. 
Now, without joking, he’s afraid of the President 
’fraid of old Maple; ’fraid of the Sophs, and 1 guess 


PRIZE DECLAMATIONS. 


26l 


he’s afraid of himself, but there is one thing that he 
isn’t a whit afraid of.” 

“What’s that?” asks Mr. Snow, amused. 

“ Why, ’tis his solemn-faced chum. When the 
‘ hall woman ’ (oh, you ought to see the ‘ hall 
woman ! ’) — when she, with her squint eyes, pinned, 
up dress, broom .and mop in hand, don't come, as 
she don't now and then, Don will make the bed, 
and sweep and sweep. I beg him, I entreat him to 
desist ; I command him ; but it is of no use. I 
can’t impress him with my age, my size, my dignity, 
my power, my authority, nor with anything! He 
has no fear of his chum, Sam Yardley, of Renut- 
town ! ” 

All laughed at this sally and all icy formality 
was broken up. Donald, however, rather fell into 
the shade in the atmosphere of Sam’s jolly 
speeches. For Mr. Snow, Hattie, and her mother, 
with Sam, entered into a gossiping talk about 
some of the professors, their families, and prom- 
inent students of the college. Eva and Donald 
listened, laughed, chipped in a word occasionally, 
but were both conscious of a slight undercurrent 
of embarrassment — an embarrassment that would 
doubtless have been relieved if Donald and Sam 
could have changed seats. Donald thought : “ I 
could be at ease with Hattie ! ” Eva said to 
herself, “ I know I could talk freely with him" 
meaning Sam. 

At last, when there was a lull in the general con- 


262 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


versation, Eva made an effort (it is good to make 
an effort — it makes large eyes brighten) and said to 
Donald, “ Have you ever been to Rhodes?” 

‘‘Yes, once, in a steamboat. We came up the 
bay and stopped at the town for an hour.” 

“ How did you like the city?” 

“ I thought it looked pretty from the sea, but I 
couldn’t go around much, I was so much afraid the 
boat would go off and leave me.” 

“ You must come again, Mr. Woodward, when 
you can go around. We have a nice church, a large 
court-house, a stone custom-house, and lots of fine 
stores in Rhodes.” 

“ I should like to go again, and (he said it with 
not a little trepidation) would like to call at your 
house.” 

“ Oh, papa, and mamma, and Lil, and all of us, 
would be glad to see you and your friend at our 
house,” she said in a low, laughing voice. 

This tete-a-tete was protected by Mrs. Snow. 

“Tell us, Mr. Yardley, if you who are soon com- 
ing to Sophomores are going to behave as badly as 
your predecessors ! ” 

Sam starts off at once with a declaration of the im- 
proved character of the new class, and says the com- 
munity may expect nothing but good conduct from 
the present Freshmen. He thinks Donald may be 
an exception, etc. Mrs. Snow with tact, lest Don- 
ald and Eva be disturbed, sends him into other 
themes for a time, when they are all interrupted by 


PRIZE DECLAMATIONS. 


263 


a jingle of the door-bell, and the presence upon the 
short porch of the Rev. Mr. Parker and Henry 
Haviland Poor. 

Here are new complications, Sam thinks. The 
new-comers are kindly received, like old acquaint- 
ances, as they were. The minister, in his easy, home- 
like manner, takes the seat Donald offers him, and 
Donald takes a rocker near Hattie and Mr. Snow. 
Poor and Mrs. Snow are immediately chatting, 
showing benevolent work in common, and the inti- 
macy of established friendship. 

Eva is at home with the minister, and her tongue 
runs quite freely. She rallies him on his “ sounding- 
board" his high pulpit, and the unfinished nature 
of the “ brown meeting-house,” as she calls the Nyo- 
ton church. 

“ Oh, Eva, I do not wish to be an uncertain 
sound. My pulpit is not too high for the students’ 
gallery. Do you think it is, Mr. Poor?” 

Mr. Poor had to have the question repeated. 

“ Oh, no, sir. I wish you could see into all the cor- 
ners of our gallery ! ” 

Eva laughs at this reply quite merrily, and turn- 
ing to Sam, says : 

“How is it, Mr. Yardley; would it be a good 
thing for Mr. Parker to look into the corners of the 
students’ gallery ? ” 

“Couldn’t say,” answers Sam, “afraid he’d forget 
his prepared sermon in the presence of newly dis- 
covered sins ! ” 


264 * DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 

Mr. Snow declares: “Then he ought to speak 
without his notes.” 

“ Oh, I can easily interpolate by way of illustra- 
tion. For example, ‘ that reading hymn-books and 
other sacred poetry in sermon time distracts the 
attention and encrusts the hearts of young men.” 

“Do the students really do that, Mr. Parker? 
How do you find it out?” 

“ How soon people forget that I ever was a young 
man, or ever went through college!” 

Donald is a little sore on this reading business, 
and he don’t think he has kept up his end of the 
rope at conversation very well. And Eva’s more 
lively manner with the minister, and more free-and- 
easy speech to Sam, somehow begin to bother him 
so, he can’t tell how or why; but he, followed by 
Sam, rises and bids the party good-evening. Mrs. 
Snow follows them to the door, thanks them for 
having come, and tells them that her house will al- 
ways be open to them, and wishing to cheer Don- 
ald, who she instinctively fears has not quite en- 
joyed the afternoon, says kindly: 

“ Your room-mate says you like to sing and play 
the melodeon. Hattie and her father will enjoy ac- 
companying you. Do come of an evening, if you 
can.” 

“ I thank you very much. I shall be happy to 
come.” 

“ Eva sings well, and plays pretty well already, 
though she hates to try before anybody out of the 


PRIZE DECLAMATIONS. 265 

family She goes back Monday, though. Do come 
again ? ' 

Here were a host more of small things, bits of 
conversation, but accompanied with thoughts, nerves, 
feelings : sensitive young hearts coming together, 
seeking ascendency; confidences, adjustments; the 
preliminaries of the greatest things, even of the life 
histories, which this world furnishes for human com- 
fort. A scrap of home-going converse reveals much. 

“Well, Don, you make good progress, I see?” - 

“ I don't see it at all ; I had neither wit nor sense, 
and seemed to be about the only one she didn’t 
like.” 

“ Oh, psha! I’ve got better eyes than that. Now, 
if my woman had ever just up and talked, and asked 
me to come and see her — ” 

“ But she didn’t do that. She merely said I must 
come to Rhodes again, and that her folks would be 
glad to see you and me at their house.” 

“Good for you, Don; what could a fellow wish 
for, more than that?” 

“ I am not contented with my part of the perform- 
ance, and she must think me a dunce.” 

“ Convince a man against his will, and he’ll be of 
the same opinion still.” 

After all callers had gone, and Eva and her aunt 
were for a few minutes alone, she said : “ I don’t see 
what made me so frightened at that young man. I 
can talk and talk with the other one the best.” 


266 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“ But you don’t dislike young Woodward, do you, 
Eva?” 

“No, not exactly that. He has a pleasant face, 
but I can’t get through his smile to know just what 
he means, and he looks straight and steady at me ! ” 

“Well, Eva, I enjoy fun and wit, but for life give 
me deep, earnest natures, that you can’t fathom the 
first time you see them.” 

“ I’m too young to think about any life yet, and I 
do enjoy the fun.” 

“ Would some power the gif tie gie us, 

To see ourselves as others see us ! ” 

Her aunt read the beginning of Eva’s future, very, 
very dimly, it is true. But she knew that her pre- 
cocious, wit-loving niece had met with a disturbing 
force whose effect could not be shaken off at will. 

At the “ Sorghum Club ” that evening Poor spoke 
pleasantly of having met the young men at Mrs. 
Snow’s, and told Donald that he was very fortunate, 
for they were the finest people in the world. He 
said he was even better acquainted with Mr. Daniel 
Jasper, of Rhodes, than with Mr. Snow. The 
former was the President of the Rhodes and Dal- 
port Railroad, and a man very much respected by 
everybody who knew him. Donald’s cheeks burned 
while Poor was talking in this way, and his heart 
beat, and he became afraid something would betray 
the deep interest he took in these statements; so he 
did not venture to reply. But the irrepressible Sam 


PRIZE DECLAMATIONS. 


267 


declared . “ It is good for us, Mr. Poor, that for once 
we fell into good company. If I wasn’t spoken for 
(remember, this is a secret) I couldn’t help falling in 
love with that young lady.” 

He glances mischievously toward Donald’s cloudy 
face, to catch his slight scowl, which plainly said : 
* Don’t tread on sacred ground.” 

He laughed and said: “Hurray! Gentlemen, 
Don Woodward is afraid of me — tied up as I am ; a 
dog tied up barks loud, growls much, but he can’t 
bite beyond his rope. Now I protest against a 
twinge of jealousy, and call you to witness, Mr. 
Poor, if I didn’t do my devoirs to the youngest, the 
flaxen-haired little one? It was she that I meant. 
In fact my heart is not a little touched in that 
direction.” 

Donald laughed at this, rallied completely, declared 
that he was satisfied with the apology, but that 
Sam Had no stability — was not of the same 
mind long. For, before witnesses, that very after- 
noon, he had said with emphasis that I was afraid 
of everything else but himself, and that I had no 
fear of him; now he contradicts it flatly, and asserts 
that I am afraid of him .” 

Henry Haviland Poor notices this badinage. 
Donald’s appearance at first, and Sam’s fun, with its 
result upon his mate, and the whole proceeding re- 
acts upon his heart. He says to himself: “ It can- 
not be that this young man is partial to Miss Eva. 
Why they have just become acquainted ! I hope 
not.” 


268 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


Poor was, as we have seen, generous, self-denying, 
Christian ; but there was something too terrible in 
the idea of having to surrender a longing that he 
had been for some time cherishing in his heart. His 
father, the railroad man of Grenville, had been long 
intimate with Mr. Daniel Jasper, of Rhodes, and as 
Rhodes was only thirteen miles from Nyoton, Mr. 
Poor, Senior, had spoken for a warm place of wel- 
come for his son at his friend’s house, and sent him 
to Nyoton by the way of Rhodes, now nearly two 
years ago, with a letter of introduction. Occasion- 
ally since, Henry Haviland had made a Saturday 
and Sunday visit to the Jaspers, returning Monday 
morning to his duties. He had also met different 
members of the family at Mr. Snow’s, where, in fact, 
he was introduced at first by Mrs. Jasper. Now 
this upright, straightforward, careful,, extraordinary 
youth was much beloved by every member of the 
Jasper family, yet, contrary to the surmise of the 
most watchful of mothers, he had really begun to 
cherish the hope that Eva was destined to be his 
helpmeet in the missionary field to which he pur- 
posed to devote his life. He had thus far never 
even hinted such a thing to Eva, nor to anybody ; 
but he had looked into her bright, speaking eyes; 
he had observed how, as the eldest, she had to as- 
sume care and responsibility; how strong and de- 
cided was her real character, though very timid in 
self-assertion ; in brief, how thoroughly fitted she 
would be for a missionary’s wife, if she only would 


269 


PRIZE DECLAMATIONS. 

become a “ professed Christian.” But for the last 
item in the way of fitness for him and for his life- 
work, Henry Haviland Poor would, doubtless, some 
time ago, have revealed himself. Thus matters 
stood, when just a suspicion of trouble from the 
passionate Donald flashed across his heart. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE EXAMINATION — THE EXCURSION TO RHODES 
— VISITS AT THE JASPERS — JOURNEY HOME VIA 
THE CAPITAL. 

T IME pushes on. Examinations come. The 
medical halls are used for these, why, cannot 
be guessed with any semblance of certainty. The 
retorts, the boilers, the lightning apparatus, the 
bones wired together, the sightless skulls, and the 
keen cutting implements in that building were very 
suggestive of sacrifice, perhaps of victims, for they 
are more likely, by a little help of the imagination, 
to scare ideas out of a boy’s head than leave them 
in. There is, however, a scenic ordeal that young 
people never forget. It takes them beyond the com- 
monplace. A little horror, a little mystery ! Pass 
through it unscathed, and an epoch of student 
life is gained ! Who does not remember that old 
Medical College — from whence it was said the dead 
negro was brought by the Sophomores to usurp 
Professor Dooly’s place at morning prayers ; to 
some of the inner rooms of which that young lady 
270 


THE EXAMINATION. 


271 


subject with long hair was carried, whom in deep 
love a young medical man tried in vain to bring back 
to life ; failing of which, with three others, he restored 
her to the rest from which the careless body-snatch- 
ers had taken her ! In this mystic, historic, revered 
old building the four classes went through the an- 
nual examination before the assembled Faculty, who 
were aided by three selected members of the Board 
of Trustees. 

Donald, Sam, Sky, and a small host of other 
Freshmen, stand up in turn to be questioned by the 
gracious Professor Pressley, the large-hearted, mod- 
est Professor Maple,, the quick-motioned, bristling 
Professor Lithrow, and the eloquent but distrustful 
Professor Dooly. The Latin, the Greek, the alge- 
bra, the rhetoric, and the composition are tested ; 
the certificates are properly issued ; and a happy 
set of noisy young men issue from the mysterious 
hall. Now Donald’s hat goes up with, “ No longer a 
Freshman! Hurrah!” Sam sings his old song, and 
gives an extra hurray, while a big classmate drives 
his immense hat further down on the back of his 
head. Some catch by the limbs of the large shade- 
tree at the door, swing and jump ; some crouch down, 
while others go over them, leap-frog fashion ; all do 
something to exhibit their great joy at release and 
promotion. 

This year very few of the new Sophomores stay 
to commencement. They had rather hasten to the 
congratulations of home friends and the various en- 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


272 

joyments of vacation than wait and look at the 
exercises in which they are to bear no part. 

“Plenty of time hereafter/’ says Donald, “to 
learn how they do it, before our turn comes.” 

“Yes,” Sam replies: “We’ll practise our orations 
in Mason, and perhaps we can get inspired again; 
who knows?” 

A party of students make up their minds to go 
down the Podham river to the bay in a small steam- 
boat, and there take the regular ocean steamer that 
touches at Rhodes, en route to the Capital from 
Dalport. Donald and Sam have arranged with their 
home friends to be met at the Capital, which, it is 
true, is half as far off as Nyoton. Yet it gives 
them a pleasant excursion down the Podham, out 
on the bay, and up another beautiful river. Donald 
learns, but he says not a word about it, even to 
Sam, that there will be at least three hours’ delay 
at the town of Rhodes. Just the time to see the 
church, the court-house, the custom-house, and 
make a brief call at the house of Mr. Jasper. What 
prospect could be more delightful! The truth is, 
quite frequently of late Eva Jasper has peeped in 
upon Donald’s sentient spirit and imaged herself 
there too often to be effaced. She has had her 
name written many times on bits of paper, to be 
torn up and burnt ; she has been written about 
without name in a book of confidences called “a 
diary/' yet not a diary. She has been thought about, 
even to the graceful head-gear, the well-fitting dress, 


THE EXAMINATION. 


273 


the watch-chain, the choice rings, and the petite 
shoes — not in the way of intrinsic value — but as the 
settings of a complete picture; thought of because 
of the picture. Every word and look has been gone 
over with eyes shut at night, when Donald ought to 
have been asleep; every word and look, from the 
first touch from a trembling hand to his shoulder, 
to the close of that famous Saturday afternoon tete - 
h-tete at Mr. Snow’s; and if there is any truth in the 
symptoms, our Donald, with his own warm heart, 
, and deep, passionate nature, has actually fallen in 
love with Eva Jasper. His love, furthermore, has 
not the slightest reference to consequences; he 
hasn’t even thought of them ; has no possible re- 
gard to the fitness of a match; to the helpmeet 
part in some chosen sphere of existence. Whether 
selfish or unselfish, the young man does not reason 
about it; still it becomes to him a new motive force. 
For really, then and thereafter, the ^-thought was 
enlarged to a dual conception. A choice book — 
could we not enjoy it together? A sweet song — 
could we not play and sing it together? A rich 
landscape — might we not see it together? A life- 
work — might we not undertake it together? 

All this kept coming in (we can only hint at it), 
mixed up with the very proper uncertainty of the 
situation. Donald had told nobody of his passion. 
Eva knew nothing about it, and wasn’t likely to; 
except that his sayings at Mrs. Snow's, when he 
went to sing with Hattie, were mischievously re- 


274 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


ported by that young lady, for teasing, to Eva, in 
sundry little notes. For example, Hattie said: 
“Eva likes that hymn! ’ He asks quickly and 
eagerly, “ Does she really like that one ; there isn’t 
a sweeter one in the world ! ” 

Hattie tells it thus: “ Not his words, Eva, but his 
eyes, his cheeks, and his manner. I know he thinks 
Eva Jasper is splendid ! ” 

Mrs. Snow noticed too that he did not inquire 
about Eva when he called, as Sam and Poor did ; 
but that he would flush and listen attentively when 
she (Mrs. Snow) spoke of her. So she writes to 
Mrs. Jasper: “Eva has surely made a conquest of 
young Woodward.” 

This is about how matters were when Donald and 
Sam went on board the little river steamboat, at the 
end of their Freshman year. After the Sophomore 
examination, which had preceded that of the 
Freshmen, Henry Haviland Poor had concluded 
to take a trip to Rhodes, and invite Mrs. Jasper 
and the young ladies to accompany him to the 
commencement exercises that were to take place in 
a week. • Thursday morning, with a carriage from 
the livery stable, with Stephen Curtis for a compan- 
ion, he takes the refreshing drive of thirteen miles 
from Nyoton to Rhodes, and is welcomed by Lil, 
Jessie, Eva, and little Homer, with extra demonstra- 
tions of good-will. Mrs. Jasper, soon after his ar- 
rival, returns from a walk and begs the young men 
to stay overnight, as there is to be a lecture in the 


EXCURSION TO RHODES. 


275 


evening by their own minister, the Rev. Dr. Parker. 
Poor likes the idea, and Curtis, who has taken a 
manly sober course since his rustication, gladly as- 
sents. They like their company, and wish to see 
how Dr Parker appears away from home. 

When Poor left Nyoton, he had purposed to say 
nothing to Eva at this time of what was in his 
mind, but wait for a favorable time at the com- 
mencement ; for commencements are remarkably 
favorable for the beginnings of real life, in more 
senses than one. Attentions on crowded commence- 
ment-days of young gentlemen to young ladies are 
a matter of course. Marked attentions even would 
then pass ‘unnoticed. So he reasoned, for Henry 
Poor was wise. This lecture and invitation were un- 
expected. Eva took his arm, and Stephen walked 
with Mrs. Jasper to the lecture. They had a few 
blocks to walk. Eva was light-hearted, and very 
grateful for the invitation to commencement, so she 
chatted without restraint. One curious question, 
however, she asked, that went through Poor like a 
shot. 

“ Did you notice, Mr. Poor, that your two friends, 
Woodward and Yardley, were coming this way by 
the steamer to-morrow?” 

He said, “No; I hadn’t heard of it,” and was 
thinking fast, how could she hear ol such a thing? 
has it gone as tar as letters? when Eva replied 
seemingly to his thought, “ Hattie’s note, that 
came down this morning, said Yardley told her they 


2 y6 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


would come this way. They will be here three 
hours, and as papa is away, won’t* you, Mr. Poor, 
stay long enough to meet them at the dock and in- 
vite them up to our house ? ' 

Henry Haviland Poor was caught. He didn’t 
know what to say; but a sudden impulse seized him 
to declare himself then and there, lest it might be 
too late after the morrow. So he said : “ Miss Jas- 
per, I want to ask you a question before we get to 
the lecture-room.” He spoke very slowly and sol- 
emnly. “ Would you be willing, one of these days, to 
connect your fortunes with mine?” 

Eva looked up in blank surprise. 

“ What can you mean, Mr. Poor.” 

“ I mean, I have long thought nobody could suit 
me like yourself.” 

“ Why, I am only a school-girl, scarcely sixteen , 
I never thought of you a minute, only as our dear, 
good friend. Come, mother, we have outwalked 
you,” she says, lagging for her mother as they now 
near the lecture-room door. 

When the party returned after the lecture, Eva 
made bold to take the arm of Mr. Curtis, and enter 
tained him in a most lively manner, much to his de- 
light, all the way back. Poor could get no serious 
word of import in edgewise to the ear ot his intended 
helpmeet. She was evidently excited. She laughed 
and talked more nonsense than he ever heard her 
before. So, with considerable discouragement he 
at last took his leave, with the hope that a week s 


EXCURSION TO RHODES. 277 

delay might make Miss Eva more thoughtful, and 
more willing to hear his suit. At the door, as Eva 
and Mrs. Jasper were bidding the young Juniors 
good-by, Eva said, with a show of mirth : 

“ You must be more gallant commencement-day, 
Mr. Poor; my humble request to meet our steam- 
boat friends you did not heed.” 

“ Forgive me. I couldn’t,” he said, sadly. 

Eva’s large eyes filled with tears, for she per- 
ceived that she had wounded him deeply, and she 
was sorry. 

“ It is for you to forgive me. We shall see you 
both soon again. Good-by.” They touch their 
hats, spring into their carriage, and are soon well on 
their way to Nyoton. The tears and the kind 
words, 44 Forgive mef afforded Poor a crumb of 
comfort. There was hope in them ! 

Twenty students charter the little “ May Queen” 
to take them to Rhodes. Friday morning by eight 
o’clock all are on board. The whistle blows; the 
starry flag floats in the breeze and sunlight; the 
wheels begin to turn, and in three minutes the 
steamer has swung out into the swift current of the 
river. Twenty students — a lively party any where — 
but here are twenty newly-fledged Sophomores on 
their way home for a vacation. If one has been 
just there he can appreciate the situation. It is a 
happy crowd, whether on a railway car, on the inside 
and outside of an old stage, or, as now, on the deck 
of a graceful little steamboat, and descending the 


278 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


rapid Podham at the rate of twelve to fifteen miles an 
hour! Of course, the sun is bright, the water spar- 
kles and foams over the rocks along shore ; the 
fields are green ; the cattle graze, or stop to look in 
blank wonderment, or go capering off with erect 
tails, as the boat goes by. Student-eyes take it all 
in. There is laughing, story-telling, song-singing, 
with the fullest chorus. 

The old songs are the best, because all know them. 
Sam’s “ Dan Tucker ” has to come, with its variations. 
“ Dandy Jim’* is started by Donald; then is sung 
“ Dearest May,” with the Latin chorus — “Dulcis May, 
es pulchrior die ,” etc. Soon as they see the church 
spire of Rhodes they strike up, by sudden, boy-like 
transition: “We are almost there, we are almost 
there ! ” 

As soon as they touch at the dock Donald 
and Sam are met by Eva and Jessie. Eva tells 
them, as they are strangers, she and Jessie have 
come down to pilot them. It is a sort of glad, free- 
and-easy meeting, having the lightness of a surprise 
party, not the stiffness and Solemnity of a formal 
one. 

Sam says: “Well, Miss Jasper, Don is anxious to 
see the custom-house, court-house, etc.” 

He says it with a little mischief in those eyes 
under his cap. 

“All right,” she replies gayly, and leads off, asking 
little Jessie to show Mr. Woodward the sights. 

Now, Donald would like to have walked with 


VISIT TO THE JASPERS. 279 

Eva, but it was almost as good to follow her and 
look at the ease and grace of her motions, and hear 
the pleasant sallies of her happy humor. She was 
never really gay. She had a quiet, searching way 
of repartee, never at fault saying things that made 
one stop to think, before answering. And Donald 
instinctively knew that the ease and humor would 
be spoiled, as at Mason, at their second meeting, if 
they two had walked together. 

After taking a turn around the old town, they are 
finally conducted by the young ladies to the fine 
residence of the Jaspers. Mrs. Jasper and the chil- 
dren, Lil and Homer, meet them on the vine-clad 
porchway, and take them into the cheerful sitting- 
room. Here the bright carpet, the handsome furni- 
ture, the choice pictures, the gauzy curtains, the sing- 
ing birds, and the eloquent taste of arrangement, 
might have frightened our country boys, but withal, 
every face beamed with welcome, and evidently, too t 
everything, from cricket to piano-stool, from mantel- 
shelf to sofa, was for use and comfort. 

Mrs. Jasper, after making her guests feel at home, 
asked Donald if he and Eva, with the piano, couldn’t 
give them a few songs. Of course, this was a trial 
to both. Their ears burned:, and I suspect their 
hearts beat ; but Eva, without a word, opened the 
instrument, and made ready to play; Donald joined 
her, and soon they agreed upon such few pieces as 
they had in common. She sang in a clear, sweet 
voice, distinct, though not very strong. Donald, 


280 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


with a perfect chord, sang bass or tenor, and both 
felt the pleasure of this union of voices. 

How frequently it seems as if two voices, male 
and female, were attracting each other, sympathiz- 
ing with each other, and often actually wedded, be- 
fore any love-words are exchanged. Mrs. Jasper, 
Lillie, and Sam (they were three good witnesses) 
thought like this to themselves, while Donald and 
Eva were singing: “ How they seem made for each 
other.” The voices, of course, for the matron, but 
Lil and Sam meant more. 

The lunch-time came; Donald and Lil sat to- 
gether ; Sam and Eva, two and two, opposite and at 
the far end of the table from Mrs. Jasper, the 
smaller children taking the nearer privilege. 

“Do you know, Mr. Woodward, we had two stu- 
dents here all night?” asked Lil. 

“No; who could they be?” 

"Why, Mr. Poor and Mr. Curtis. They came 
down yesterday in a carriage, staid to the lecture 
and all night, and went home this morning.” 

Eva caught the meaning of Lil’s communication, 
while she was trying to tell Yardley about her pros- 
pect of going to commencement, wondering in her 
heart if Donald had any apprehension of Poor’s at- 
titude to her ; she colored deeply as she watched 
his countenance, when Lil, girl-like, was running on : 

“If you won’t tell anybody I’ll tell you a secret, 
Mr. Woodward!” 

“ All right ; not for the world — ” 


THE JOURNEY HOME. 


281 


“Well, Mr. Poor invites us all to go to commence- 
ment with him, and I guess he’s going to make our 
Eva a missionary, for you know he’s very religious.” 

“What did Lil say, Mr. Woodward?” asks Eva. 

“ Oh, I promised not to tell.” 

“You mustn't believe too much of her secrets,” 
said Eva, with a little mortification in her look. 

This little snatch of conversation made not much 
impression on Donald at the time. After lunch the 
whole party walked down to the ocean steamer to- 
gether. Donald had a few minutes alone with Eva; 
not one word was said by either to betray the real 
state of their affections. She thanked him for com- 
ing, and hoped that he and his room-mate, who was 
splendid company, would come again. He said that 
he hoped she would visit her Aunt Snow, so that they 
could sing again together; and if she chanced to go 
up to Mason she must let them know. So they 
parted. How Donald did long to speak: but never 
mind ; for Eva his tones, and looks, and manners 
were enough. Eva knew in her heart that she had 
won the devoted affections of one strong, passionate 
soul. 

As he is on his way to his loving mother, who will 
daguerreotpye every added wrinkle of care, thought, 
or trouble of his, on her own observing spirit, let us 
take a look at him ourselves. 

Donald Woodward has changed remarkably. As 
a man fixes a standard so is he influenced, not up 
(or down) to his standard, but affected by it. If the 


282 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


standard is a high and worthy one, it lifts him up. If 
it is a low and unworthy one, it degrades. If it is 
the highest, the standard that is a divine helper as 
well as a model, it lifts one to higher and higher 
things, and enables one to bathe and cleanse oneself 
in divine waters. 

Donald’s standard as yet was altogether human, 
frail and earthly, charming and gentle, however, as 
Eva seemed, or was. He was benefited by it, and 
the more, as in his imaginati6n and his attributing 
of qualities, he saw almost divine lineaments. “ Eva 
is pure and gentle ; ” “ She is generous and kind ; ” 
“She is very capable;” “Her voice is sweet in 
song.” These and such propositions, written in his 
confidences, affected Donald to avoid the impure 
and the rash, the selfish and the unkind. They 
stimulated him to try for his higher capabilities, to 
seek the completest politeness and culture. 

Now, at seventeen Donald was very precocious, 
almost premature. Yet he has become to all out- 
ward appearance a manly, gentlemanly young man. 
The love of a worthy girl in his heart, without much 
known growth as yet, has done for him what it gen- 
erally does for a young man. It makes him better. 
It cannot be ignored by parents, nor pierced with 
irony or sneers or raillery, without doing a young 
man a great wrong. It can be made the stepping- 
stone to the highest things, for all true, genuine love 
is of God, for God is all-embracing, and “ God is 
love.” 


THE JOURNEY HOME. 


283 


Occasionally during the journey home a little 
jealousy crept into Donald s mind. The girlish re- 
mark of Lillie, that she thought Mr. Poor was going 
to make Eva a missionary, and Eva’s excitement at 
the words she overheard Lillie utter, came back to 
him ; but he pooh-pooh’d at such disturbing sugges- 
tions, and inclined himself to happier dreams. 

George Lincoln welcomed him and Sam to the 
Capital. He, now eighteen, had quit school and 
was an under-clerk in his father’s store. George 
showed them the state-house, and other public 
buildings as he drove them home that evening, 
and entertained them for a night at his father’s 
hospitable mansion. 

George and Donald reviewed their friends at 
Toffnom, and recalled their pleasant associations. 
Bessie Hale’s brief, sweet life was referred to, and 
Donald wondered whether he wasn’t fickle in his 
spirit, for he did think there could nobody excel 
Bessie Hale. George told him in confidence that 
he was “ paying his devoirs ” to the banker’s daugh- 
ter, the most beautiful and the most accomplished 
girl in the city. 

But I thought, George, your heart was wedded 
to poor Bessie? ” 

“ Yes, Donald, my feeling for her is like a precious 
jewel laid away. You know, I think we never love 
two people alike.” 

*' I never thought of that, George,” Donald said, 
meditatively. “ The Saviour said, referring to the 


284 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


other world, that there ‘ they neither marry nor are 
given in marriage, but are as the angels of God in 
heaven.’ ” 

“Yes, Donald, I guess Bessie is an angel, if there 
ever was one] ” 

The young men both felt that it would not touch 
their loyalty to right to entertain a sort of sacred 
reverence for this bright, sunshiny spirit, and yet 
be filled with a more tangible and earthly love. 

“ That is a good thought, George : we never love 
two people alike.” 

Probably neither of them had really had their 
hearts fully assailed and carried by storm before the 
present. The child loves, sometimes with ardor; 
the boy seeks the genial, the attractive, the buoyant, 
the sympathetic girl ; but the young man just bud- 
ding into manhood, when the warm blood courses 
swiftly, falls in love. If he is capable of large affec- 
tion, its rootlings take hold of the centre of his 
being, and so intertwine themselves with the object 
of his conception (his queen being only the outward 
sign) that the love lasts while he lasts. The so-called 
love , that is merely a name, a convenience, a selfish 
impulse, a calculation of money, or a schedule of 
other things as useful as money — of course, this is 
not meant ; no, it is a spark of that sacred fire from 
God, that may knit two of his creatures together in 
a true sympathy, perennial and perpetual, not op 
posed to, but in harmony with the boundless ocean 
of eternal, all-embracing love. 


THE JOURNEY HOME. 


285 


Henry is on hand the next day to take Sam and 
Donald to Grenville. “Well, well, Henry,” as he 
rides into Mr. Lincoln’s yard about eight o’clock, 
“how you have grown since I saw you ! ” says Sam. 

“ Can’t have grown much in three months, I guess, 
Mr. Yardley.” 

“ Did you stay at grandma’s last night, at River- 
town, as ma wrote?” asks Donald, as he gives him 
a brotherly hug. 

“Yes; you wouldn’t find me here this early, if I’d 
come all the way from Grenville.” 

“Are all well at home, Henry?” 

“All well, except we’ve lost Parker. He’s gone 
and married, and set up for himself in the upper 
part of the town. Ma thinks he’s taken in, but he 
and his wife came to meeting last Sunday, looking 
as nice and happy as you can think.” 

“ I hope Parker has got a good wife. He is a 
faithful fellow, and deserves a good home. How I 
shall miss him ! ” 

“Pa hasn’t hired anybody yet. He is saving 
money on me,” says Henry, laughing. “ Donald 
will have to pitch in when he gets home, unless ma 
thinks he’s too genteel and begs off for him. Donald 
used to be lazy, Mr. Yardley.” 

George presses the three to stay till afternoon, 
but Henry declares the mare is getting slow and 
must have the day for the journey — so the triends 
bid each other good-by, and the trio are soon climb- 
ing the gentle slopes westward toward Grenville. 


286 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


There is not a prettier drive in the world than 
this; twenty miles of good road. Hills and dales, 
villages and farms, groves and meadows, streams to 
cross and lakes to see ! The air was just right, cool 
and bracing, but softened into geniality by the un- 
clouded sun. Henry was first thoroughly probed 
on home matters, neighborhood matters, and town 
matters. Even Sam got an item of news : “ The 

minister, Mr. Brown, from his place, had preached 
for the Ridge people last Sunday week, and .staid 
all night at our house. He told us the Yardleys 
were well then.” 

“ Hurray, hurray! give us your hand, Henry. Did 
the old man say anything about that daughter of 
his?” 

“ No, I didn’t know he had a daughter.” 

“All right, he has. so you ask next time. I am 
dying to hear from her.” 

Sam had to rally Donald a good deal about the 
“queenly Eva, the belle of Thule.” So that Henry 
gathered pretty welt how things were before they 
reached home. It was about two o’clock when the 
young men drove into Farmer Woodward's door- 
yard, The father and mother, their exhibition of 
deep affection, their joy at the meeting, the house 
scrubbed a little neater than ever, the renewal of 
tidiness where it was always tidy, the choicest of 
dinners still waiting for the expected guests, every 
thing inside and outside, that had any sort of voice, 
was speaking: “Welcome, my boy— welcome 
home i 


THE JOURNEY HOME. 


28 7 


Sam was to stay over night, and then in the 
morning one of the boys was to drive him home to 
North Renut. Mr. and Mrs. Woodward were very 
much pleased with Sam Yardley. He let them into 
many of the peculiar customs of a student’s life that 
Donald didn’t write about. If you view the scenery 
of Washington City from the dome of the Capitol, 
you are delighted, but there are twenty other points 
that give you finer prospects, because they take in 
the Capitol itself : Donald was his mother’s centre of 
observation, his letters, his talks, his face and mo- 
tions, eloquent to her heart and clear enough to her 
loving preceptions, gave her good, satisfying views, 
but Sam set her on twenty other pinnacles where 
Donald was in the view. In recitation, in society- 
debates, in rhetorical exercises, in the gymnasium, 
in the “ Sorghum Club,” in church, in the lecture- 
room, on the examination in society, he gave them 
humorous entertainment, and showed them how 
their son was developing into good and wholesome 
manly proportions. 

Henry deeply enjoys these conversations with 
Sam, for Donald’s career he reads his own. Brothers 
may disagree often, and cross each other, yet usually 
the younger copies from the elder. The successes 
life- ward are remembered by Henry when cross 
words and contradictions are long ago forgotten. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


THE RIDE TO RENUT — HENRY HAVILAND POOR’S 
LETTER— DONALD’S SICKNESS. 

T HE next day Donald concludes to drive Sam 
to his home, starting early enough in the 
morning to get to Renut before church-time, and 
return the next day. As it might keep the family 
from church to take the gray mare, they agree to 
try her colt in the wagon (her colt is really a horse 
five years old and broken to the double team and 
the plough, but not often tried alone). Donald and 
Sam have an early breakfast, and by seven o’clock 
are on the road. “ The colt,” a large half-broken 
dark-bay animal, trots off with great good-natured 
speed, but occasionally near the foot of a steep hill 
kicks up his heels and starts into a run, but fortu- 
nately, though Yardley is not a little alarmed at these 
demonstrations, Donald is a good horseman, and 
gets on to-day without any serious damage or in- 
convenience, beyond the splintering of the dash- 
board, and slightly bruising Sam’s knee. 

The bother of the colt at first takes up their at- 
288 


THE RIDE TO RENUT. 


289 


tention, and then, it being Sunday, a suggestive, im- 
pressive day to any New England boy, both were 
more inclined than usual to seriousness in thought 
and speech. After Donald had fixed the halter 
over the colt’s back as near the wagon as he could, 
and bound him to the shafts so. that it was next to 
impossible for him to kick up, he began to talk to 
Sam about Eva: 

“ Sam, I’ve a kind of foreboding this morning that 
I’m not to have smooth water!” 

“ Whither away, Don ! Who could have better 
outlooks than you? If I only had half your chance 
of success in my affair, I’d be the happiest feller this 
side the greedy grave ! ” 

“ But you don’t know. I haven’t said a word to 
Eva ; she don’t know that I care for her particularly ; 
and that little Lil Jasper declared that she believed 
that Poor wanted Eva for a missionary — to be sure, 
she’s rather young, yet Poor, seeing beaus coming 
in, may take time by the forelock, for he is smart , 
if he is quiet and saintly .” 

“Well, Don, I guess ’tis only your surmises; Lil’s 
story was only her fun, to tell something she 
thought would tease her sister, and to see how you 
would take it.” 

“ May be so, Sam ; but I am a different man from 
what I have been. I keep thinking, thinking, plan- 
ning, planning for the future, and (lowering his 
voice) I tell you, Sam Yardley, Eva Jasper has 
come into the thoughts and the plans, and stays 


290 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


there. It would hurt me dreadfully to be ‘ cut out,’ 
even by so good a man as Henry Haviland Poor. It 
might ruin me.” 

“Come, Don, you have got the blues this morn- 
ing. Think of the bright things. She’s been bet- 
ter to you than to him. I b’lieve she knows how 
you feel, though you didn’t talk. Actions some- 
times are stronger than words. I b’lieve her mother, 
too, is your good friend, and that if you will reveal 
yourself, she will never say No!” 

They now turn to Sam’s case. “ Say, Don, you 
must give me a lift if you have a chance ! ” 

“All right, old fellow, I’ll do my best.” 

Sam says, putting his hat well back: “I am not 
afraid of you any more, for I see you are so well 
smashed that there is no longer any mischief in you ! ” 
“You are pretty nearly right,, Sam. It isn’t Eva 
Jasper alone that ‘smashes’ me; but I begin to 
think more and more of what is in me and what 
is not in me. I am poor ; father can’t give me much, 
if anything, after I graduate, and I’ve got to hoe 
my own row ! I’m in love, it is true, but can I carry 
the load and be anybody? Will her folks risk it?” 

“Oh, Don Woodward, you needn’t worry; you’ll 
get along. I’ll risk anybody that’s got the sense, 
pluck, and talent you have ! ” 

“ Well, Sam, you are a good one to comfort a fel- 
low, anyhow.” 

Such conversations, more real, more communi- 
cative, more serious and confidential than usual, 


THE RIDE TO RENUT, 


29I 


brought them almost before they are aware of it, to 
Mr. Yardley s cottage by the roadside. The young 
men were in ample time for the morning services to 
be held at the school-house, not far from Mr. Yard- 
ley s. So that, after the welcome words were 
spoken, the family proceed to the little school-house, 
and the family includes Donald and Sam. The 
house is full. Chairs have to be brought in from 
the neighbors’ dwellings and placed in the aisles and 
in front, near the school-desk which answers for a 
pulpit. Sam and Donald, fresh-looking, well clad 
young men of seventeen and eighteen as they are, at- 
tract considerable attention as they come in. They 
get a good seat, one back from the front and di- 
rectly opposite the door (there is no unoccupied 
corner for Sam now; and then Donald, being in- 
clined to sing, liked to be near those who sing, and 
they never take back-corner places). Mr. Brown is 
to preach ; but he hasn’t yet come in. Our party 
is hardly seated before Mr. Brown, his wife and 
daughter appear through the inner door in the little 
hall; Sam needs but one glance: without Sam’s 
nudge, Donald would have known by Sam’s face 
who it was. The usher conducts the ladies to the 
opposite side of the desk from the door, and what 
could be better? he seats them so that they and the 
Yardleys have an oblique view of each other. Sam 
and Mary for a brief moment face each other; she 
gives a pleasant smile ; doubtless propelled to it by 
a little excitement ; and Sam, in his humorous di- 


292 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


lemma, only blushes like a girl. (He is in meeting; 
he cannot “ hurray, nor sing his song.) I am 
afraid our young men did not carry away much of 
the sermon. The text, “ Faith is the substance of 
things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen,” 
went into Sam’s memory ; but somehow his faith 
did not soar much above the earthly surroundings. 
He had a hope that he might speak to Mary Brown ; 
that he might, be a welcome visitor at her father’s 
house. So he thinks and ponders, while the minis- 
ter is pleading with him and others ; and Mary, 
catching his attentive attitude, is hoping that her 
father is making lasting impressions upon him ; 
probably by no means realizing that it is her own 
impression that is deepening itself upon his heart, 
and that she will have to be the instrument to lift 
him to the higher standard of contemplation. 

As soon a'S the morning services are over, Sam’s 
bashfulness is coming upon him ; he tries to hasten 
out, but old friends check him : “ How do you do, 
Sam Yardley ? glad to see you home again ! ” “ Give 
us your hand ; how have you been ? ” “ When did 

you come up from college?” Donald is glad to 
delay. Mr. Yardley soon presents him to the Rev. 
Mr. Brown: “ Allow me to introduce my young 
friend, Donald Woodward, Mr. Brown ? Here’s my 
Sam, too, Mr. Brown ; rather an odd one, but we 
are in hopes to make something out of him yet.” 
Donald and Sam are glad to know Mr. Brown. 
“ Why, here comes wife and daughter; this is Sam- 


THE RIDE TO RENUT. 


293 


uel Yardley, and this young Mr. Woodward ! ” Sam, 
with extraordinary courage for him, actually takes 
Miss Mary by the hand and stammers: “ How do 
you do, Miss Brown?’ 

She smiled a£ain very pleasantly, and says : “ My 
friend, Miss Nertox, has written about you, you 
know her brothers, Chadwick and Nelson?” 

“Yes, I know the brothers; they are in the next 
class ahead of me in college.” 

“ Please present me again to your friend ; papa’s 
introduction was so extensive.’ 

“Oh, yes, Donald — I mean, Woodward — Miss 
Brown would like — Miss Brown, Don ! — ” 

Donald, smiling at Sam’s evident embarrassment, 
steps from the mother and gives his hand to the 
daughter. “Now this is just what I wanted, Miss 
Brown.” 

“ How so ? ” she asks. 

“Well, I cannot explain just here, but there are 
walls that have to be torn down, and there is ice 
that must be broken.” 

“ Donald doesn’t always talk in enigmas, Miss 
Brown.” Sam ventures this, just to say something. 
Miss Brown takes in the situation, (what true woman 
does not?) and turning to her father, who is still at 
hand-shaking and short pastoral talks, says “Papa! ” 
as soon as he is near enough repeating: “Papa, 
you must invite these young gentlemen to our house ; 
Mr. Woodward has an important matter that needs 
to be looked into.” 


294 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“ Oh, yes, oh, yes, do come, young gentlemen, we 
live close by. When do you leave us, Mr. Wood- 
ward — to-morrow? Well, come in this evening after 
service — all right ; very glad to see you.” 

Now, all this sort of talk takes place every day; 
but it does not always give such excitement, such 
joy of anticipation, such flushing of the face and 
neck with the warm blood straight from the heart, 
as at this time. Sam and Donald now start for Mr. 
Yardley’s cottage, and Don does not exaggerate 
much when he says : *“ Sam, you are a happy man ; 
your feet hardly touch the ground! If you had 
wings we should lose you ! ” 

Of course, the evening comes, though the min- 
utes were many, the intermission long, and the 
service seemingly longer. The enigmas of Donald 
were all duly explained ; the conversations there- 
after, in presence of father and mother and brother, 
were far from remarkable ; nothing to record ; yet it 
was just these little straws that directed the course 
of poor Sam’s bark, till then out on the ocean of un- 
certainty, and gave him an entrance into the peace- 
ful harbor of Mary’s society, friendship, and unob- 
trusive, undemonstrative affection. 

In the morning early, “the colt” is harnessed, 
with all due care to keep his heels down, and Don- 
ald sets out for home alone. Sam’s “ hurray” and 
song ring in his ears as he disappears down the 
steep towards the river. There is much life in “ the 
colt” this morning.' Head well up and thick mane 







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“That Colt is Bound for Home.” Page 295. 







THE RIDE TO RENUT. 


295 


floating out like a flag in the breeze, away he speeds 
homeward. “The sparks and gravel fly.” Occa- 
sionally, with playfulness (a playfulness painful 
enough to Donald), he takes the bit in his teeth, and 
then for a half-mile or more he goes more like a 
wild horse of the plains than like a safe domestic 
colt, as he ought to be. Arms ache and ache. 
Reins at times are tied together and put over Don- 
bald’s neck; they are run with a “bite” around 
the seat-spring; coaxing is used; sawing the bit, 
with vexation to man and horse, is resorted to, but 
all to no purpose. That colt is bound for home. 
He is going there in his own way. The hills at first 
give poor Donald a little rest. Now and then he 
meets a carriage of some description ; but the situa- 
tion is quickly comprehended : “ Some wild young- 
ster is trying the speed of his horse ; perhaps he has 
taken a little too much ! ” Therefore, every car- 
riage, coming or going, gets well out of the road. 
The tollman at the bridge yells at him for running 
his toll, and points distractedly to the “ fine of five 
dollars for faster than a walk.” It is all for nothing. 
Don gets angry; is nerved up to his full powers ; 
and sometimes not only scolds hard, but at the foot 
of a hill, where he might get rest, he gets his revenge 
by striking his unmanageable beast.' As he knows 
well enough it will be so, this only excites the power- 
ful animal, and away he goes, up hill and down, upon 
a clean run. When about half-way home (the 
whole distance is about ten miles), as he is descend- 


296 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


in g a gentle slope in the Podham valley, he meets 
two gentlemen riding slowly along in a chaise. 
They turn pretty well out of the way; but the 
hub of Donald’s hind wheel strikes the spokes of 
the chaise-wheel and gouges three or four of them 
badly ; but he stops not. The gentlemen say : 
“Hold on there, young man, hold on!” “I can’t, 

I can’t ! ” and they are soon out of hearing. These 
two were Mr. Poor, Senior, and his friend, Mr. * 
Daniel Jasper, of Rhodes. Neither of them knew 
Donald, but Mr. Poor thought he knew the “ colt ” 
as Farmer Woodward’s. 

On, on “ the colt ” goes, up hill and down, only 
flagging from his own prolonged exertion on the 
last hill. Donald has managed to steer him so as to 
avoid deep ditches and stone walls, and so as not to 
upset around short corners, and he got home in an 
incredibly short space of time. The “ colt ” stopped 
at the south door of his own accord, and putting 
back his ears, would probably have given a final kick 
to show his disposition, but for the halter-binding 
over his back. Donald called to his father, then in 
the garden near the cottage, who saw by the first 
glance at the horse, white with foam, that something 
was wrong. He hastened to help Donald out. He 
was too exhausted to stand alone, and cried out, say- 
ing: “ Father, he has run with me all the way! I 
couldn’t hold him !’' His mother and Henry are on 
hand in a minute, and he is helped in. 

“ I’m glad you are back with no bones broken. 


HENRY HAVILAND POOR’S LETTER. 297 

Donald ; I’ve been very, very anxious about you. 
The ‘colt’ is, I think, dreadfully unsafe.” 

Donald’s ride, with all its attendant excitement, 
its uninterrupted anxiety, and extreme exertion, 
were too much for him. The next day he was sore 
in every muscle ; the back of his head ached hard, 
and he had a high, burning fever. Thinking that 
this would all wear off with a little rest, his mother 
did not for a day or two send for the doctor; but 
soon after this it was apparent that medical help 
must be had. Dr. Lindman came, with his old 
heartiness, but he was alarmed himself at the symp- 
toms, and said : 

“ Why, why , I wish you had sent for me at once ; 
the symptoms are typhoidal ! ” 

The doctor had hardly gone when the mail was 
brought in, and as Donald asked, “ Is there any- 
thing for me?” Henry gave him a letter directed 
to “ Mr. Donald Woodward, Grenville,” etc. 

“Open it for me, Henry. I think I can read 
it.” 

He does so, and gives the open half-sheet to Don- 
ald. He glances it over, and then cries out as if in 
great pain: 

“Oh, Henry, this is dreadful!” Just then his 
mother enters the sick-room (the same old north 
room), and says, gently, “ What is it, Donald ? ” 

“Oh, mother, I’m too sick to explain now. Just 
read this letter.” 

She takes the letter from his hands and reads: 


298 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“Nyoton College, August — , 1851. 

“ To Donald Woodward , Esq . .* 

“My Dear Young Friend, — Having met you 
once at Mr. Snow’s with Miss Eva Jasper, and after- 
ward learned that you were about to pay her a second 
visit, I thought I would apprise you in season that 
I have long hoped to share my life and its work with 
Miss Jasper. I have the good-will of her father and 
mother, and I am waiting for the decision of the 
young lady herself. I think you are generous, and 
would not willingly step in to do me an injury. I 
do not know that I am rightly informed, that you 
have been showing her ‘ marked attentions ' ; but if 
you have, I pray you to consider well before you 
wound the heart of a friend who only seeks your 
best and highest good. 

“Yours sincerely, 

“ H. H. Poor.” 

% 

“Why, Donald, dear, this does not seem un- 
friendly.” 

“Oh, no, mother; I’m too sick to explain; have 
seen her but a few times, yet she has all my heart — 
Oh, Eva , Eva y why didn’t I speak to her?” 

Donald has a long, long sickness. They take 
turns in sitting in the high-backed chair — his mother, 
his father, and Henry. The doctor comes and goes. 
At times the young man is very delirious, and talks 
in wildness — that he don’t like Christians. “ They 
take from you what you love best. They smile and 


DONALD’S SICKNESS. 


2 99 


deny themselves, then they creep into your heart 
and take out the blood!” Again it is Eva. “She 
is an angel ! Why does she keep flying backwards 
away from me? Wait for me, Eva! I’ll not hurt 
you. I’ll be as good as a Christian ! There, she’ll wait 
for me. She is good and true, I know it ! ” 

Such words are a revelation to ears of home af- 
fection. The truth comes more and more plainly 
to Mrs. Woodward, that Donald’s heart is filled 
with this new love. 

Previous hard study (the vital energies already in 
a low state), taking cold after the warmth of the 
Sunday morning exertion, the terrible and prolonged 
strain of the Monday’s ride home, and the added 
blow to his affections, contained in the letter of 
Henry Haviland Poor — these causes combined in- 
duced and kept alive a fever that burned poor Don- 
ald for several weeks, and finally left him without 
flesh, weak as a little child. It was three months, 
the new year of 18 — , before Dr. Lindman believed 
it possible for him to study, and then, though gain- 
ing in flesh, he was still low-spirited and irresolute. 
His parents did not deem it prudent for him to go 
back to college in the spring and have the labor of 
keeping up with his class, after his loss of time and 
study, with the additional heavy burden of making 
up a whole term. He might have done so when in 
the full vigor of health, but not now; so that poor 
Donald had to endure the sad disappointment of 
falling a year behind his own class. 


300 DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 

Yardley had returned to Nyoton, and now and 
then wrote him cheerful letters. He had not seen 
Eva, and he had never heard of Poor’s position, or 
of his cruel letter to Donald. “ I’ll keep open a 
place for you, Don. Hurry back, old fellow; I am 
lonesome, have new complications to explain to 
you, and new knots to unravel. How are you and 
Eva Jasper getting on ? Do you write to her? ” 

Donald says to himself, “ I hadn’t thought of 
that. I might just write a few lines.” So he sits 
down to his father’s desk and after many trials pro- 
duces the following: 

“Grenville, January — , 18 — . 

“Dear Miss Jasper, — I have been very ill, and 
prevented from returning to college, and so hindered 
from seeing you at your uncle’s, or at home. I can- 
not help thinking about you, and if you will let me, 
I should like to correspond with you. 

“ Your sincere friend, 

“ Donald Woodward.” 

He does up this first letter with great care, and 
directs it to “ Miss Eva Jasper, care Daniel Jasper, 
Esq., Rhodes.” 

He waited for the answer one week; two weeks. 
The weeks grew into months, till Donald set- 
tled down into a sort of melancholy, disappointed, 
half-misanthropic, distrustful condition of mind. 
His bodily health, however, returned. He became 


DONALD’S SICKNESS. 


301 


heavier and fleshier than ever before. He got good 
books to read * worked at the farm-work with his 
father and the new hired man whenever he felt 
like so doing; and his good, watchful mother man- 
aged to bring some rays of brightness into his social 
existence by visiting with him family friends, invit- 
ing in choice and lively acquaintances, and taking 
rides over the best roads and amid the finest scenery 
in this world. Henry had now begun to follow in 
Donald’s footsteps, and goes away in the spring 
to the large Yarrot Academy, a Methodist institu- 
tion, said to be the best in the State. His letters 
home are rich to his mother, and amusing to 
Donald : 

******* They ‘ church me' up here, 
as they do all my class ; but I can stand it, and 
laugh at the boys. You may want to know what 
‘ churching ’ is. It isn’t joining the church; but the 
boys take a new boy by the feet and shoulders, and 
push him against a big tree two or three times, and 
then if he laughs and don’t cry they let him go and 
say: ‘He is churched.' * * * Tell Donald, if 

he'll wait this year, I’m going to try hard to be the 
last year with him in college. He can protect me 
with his 4 Senior dignity,’ as he calls it, so that I can 
escape from the games of the Sophs. Donald 
mustn t be in a hurry; he’ll be out of college now, 
time he’s twenty. * * * I do like home best ; no 
other friends like ma, pa , and Donald, if he does 
scold me. Your affectionate son, Henry.” 


CHAPTER XXII. 


RETURN TO COLLEGE — THE SNOWS — THE LIE — 
THE ANGER — THE EXPLANATION. 

T HE year wears away, and September finds Don- 
ald and Sam rooming together again, Donald 
in the Sophomore and Sam in the Junior class. 
Everything now proceeds about as usual in college 
matters. Donald appears much older than when 
he went away ; he has the same fiery temper, and 
added to it an increased irritability, which does not 
always make him a favorite with those who come 
nearest to him. Yet he is diligent in study, careful 
in reading, ready in debating, fervent in public dec- 
lamation, and ready to do his part in all college 
matters, so that he is treated by all with becoming 
respect. He and Sam both neglect anything of a 
religious kind, like lectures, students’ prayer-meetings, 
and the President’s Bible-class. They think and 
talk much as young men at this period of life are 
wont, against the professors of religion. Poor, who 
is now a Senior, and in his old place at the “ Sor- 
ghum Club,” meets Donald with a kind word and his 
302 


RETURN TO COLLEGE. 


303 


own placid smile, but while Donald says nothing, 
in fact, has nothing to say, against Poor, it is evident 
to Sam, who now knows the circumstances, that 
there is an undercurrent of distrust, perhaps of jeal- 
ousy, between them. 

The Snows, it seems, had been for some time away 
in Europe. They return to Mason near the close 
of this fall term. Soon after their becoming visible 
at church, Donald and Sam take it into their heads 
to pay their respects- to Mrs. Snow and Miss Hattie 
by a Saturday afternoon visit. 

As they are strolling along the streets of Mason 
they overtake the sprightly little Hattie ; she is hardly 
little any longer, but she is just as buoyant and act- 
ive as ever, and her flaxen hair still floats or tosses 
upon her quickly-moving shoulders. 

“Why, Mr. Donald! I heard you were sick; and 
you, Mr. Yardley! You haven’t been to see us this 
long, long time ! ” 

“Yes, I’ve been very sick ; lost a whole year while 
you were away.” 

Sam says, “You didn’t expect a feller to leave his 
card at an empty house, did you ? It looked forlorn 
there, all shut up.” 

“ Oh, I don’t believe you came over to see, all the 
time we were gone ! ” 

“Why, we are on our way to your handsome 
mansion just now.” 

“Good, indeed; I’ll show you the way. You 
must have forgotten the street,” she said, laughing. 


304 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


She skipped along before them, and opened the 
gate. Mrs. Snow was on the porch, and welcomed 
them very pleasantly. After the four were seated 
in that same pleasant south room, she looked into 
Donald’s face, and then said, thoughtfully and sadly, 
“ We heard before we went abroad that you had 
met with an accident, and were very ill in conse- 
quence.” 

“Yes, I drove Sam home with an unbroken horse, 
and on the way back I had an awful time. He ran 
with me for more than nine miles. I managed to 
keep him off of rocks and fences, to get home, I 
don’t know how. That and other things threw me 
into a fever, and I didn’t know much for more than 
two months.” 

“ Mr. Jasper, riding with Mr. Poor’s father in a 
chaise, met you, and said they were sure it was 
you, after inquiry. You nearly broke their chaise- 
wheel.” 

“Yes, I remember it now. Didn’t know who 
they were ; they called, ‘ Stop ! Stop ! ’ and I cried 
out ‘ I can’t,’ and went on.” 

“ May I ask you a serious question, Mr. Wood- 
ward, and won’t you be vexed at me, for I have a 
good motive ? ” 

“ Why, yes, indeed ; why not ? ” 

“ Had you taken any liquor that morning, when 
your horse ran so ? ” 

Donald colored as if he was guilty, and stam- 
mered ; for this thought never had entered his head 


RETURN TO COLLEGE. 


305 


before. It went through him like a shot; “It was 
Mr. Poor — Henry Poor’s father! It was Mr. Jasper 
— Eva’s father! They thought me running that 
horse in a drunken spree ! ” 

His first distinct utterance was, as rising, he said : 
“ They can believe the lie if they want to ! ” Sam 
saw that Donald’s high temper was up, and he inter- 
posed at once : 

“ Mrs. Snow, Don isn’t the same quite that he 
was before he was sick. I can answer for him. He 
is one of the few who has never touched a drop of 
strong drink, not even of wine, since he has been in 
college. He was not well when he left my father’s 
that morning, and the terrible horse did the busi- 
ness. Why, I tell you, would you believe it, that crit- 
ter actually kicked to pieces our fender-board, and 
barked my knee on the way up. But Don, knowing 
better than I how to manage such beasts, bound his 
old rump down to the thills, so that he couldn’t 
kick again.” 

Even Donald, with his anger excited, couldn’t 
help laughing at Sam’s description and defence. 

Mrs. Snow hastened to give her hand to Donald, 
and to say: “ I am very sorry I asked you. I don’t 
believe a word of the story; do forgive me!” 

“It was not you, Mrs. Snow, that I was thinking 
of. They have told her , Eva, that lie.” 

Here Donald choked, and could not say more. 
He sat down, put his handkerchief before his eyes, 
and held it there till he had regained his self-control. 


30 6 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


He then ro^e to leave, fearing to trust himself 
longer. Mrs. Snow followed him to the door, while 
Hattie, in tears from sympathy, was saying to Sam : 
“ They might have known better. Why give a bad 
report, when a good one is best,” etc. 

“ Take courage, Donald, dear,” says Mrs. Snow, in 
her motherly way. “ I will set the matter right. 
Eva would not believe the story.” 

“Why, then, did she not answer my note?” 

“ I cannot tell ; probably her father, whom she 
loves dearly, and would not disobey, told her not to 
write you. We have to be very careful with 
daughters in these days. Eva was only sixteen. 
Just cheer up.” 

“ Thank you ! Thank you ! I believe I am a 
baby.” 

Sam joins him, and the young men take their 
road back to the college. On the way Donald does 
not say a word ; he is considering the whole situa- 
tion, and Sam thinks it better not to disturb him. 
What a good thing it is to have such a friend as 
Sam — one that you can be at ease with, speak to 
or not, and yet risk no scenes, no breakages of the 
friendly relationship ! 

When they were en route to the “ Sorghum Club ” 
for supper, Donald says to Sam. “You don’t sup- 
pose Poor could be mean enough to take his 
father’s suspicion and put up a lie like that on me, 
do you?” 

“ Oh, no, indeed. Henry Haviland Poor, with all 


RETURN TO COLLEGE, 


307 


his calm, saintly way, could not do that. You’ll 
come out all right. Mrs. Snow is on your side: 
she’s a power. Poor’s missionary attractions don’t 
go for much with girls of sixteen and seventeen.” 

“ All right! You’re sanguine, Sam. Your head 
ought to be red.” 

“Hurray, hurray! Don’s coming to life. Come 
on, I’m hungry.” 

The students had hardly gone before Mrs. Snow 
wrote Eva a note, of which this is a copy : 

“Mason, November — , 18 — . 

“ My Dear Eva, — Come up the first opportunity 
you have ; I want to tell you something in particu- 
lar. If the railway were down you could come in 
half an hour. Love to all. 

“ Your Joving aunt, Sarah Snow. 

“ P. S. — Messrs. Yardley and Woodward (the 
old firm is resumed) have just left us. W. is fleshy, 
but walks slowly and looks sad for a boy of 
eighteen. S. S.” 

The answer: 

“Rhodes, November — ,18 — . 

“Dear Aunt Sarah, — Papa says he ‘can take 
me up week after next. I am dying for the ‘ some- 
thing in particular.’ Love to Hat and uncle. 

“ Your dutiful niece, Eva Jasper.” 

“ P. S. — That story about his reeling in drunken* 
ness wasn’t true, was it? E. J.” 


3°8 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


On Thursday, the last whole week of the college 
term, Eva was up bright and early, to accompany 
her father to Mason. While riding along, each bnsy 
with the reflections that belong respectively to man- 
hood and to girlhood, at last Eva says: “Papa, do 
you really want me to engage myself to Mr. Poor?” 

“Why, no, indeed, daughter; I don’t want you 
* engaged ’ to anybody ! ” 

“Why, then, papa, when Mr. Poor pressed me so 
about commencement time, did you make him think 
you were very favorable to him?” 

“ This is the first time I heard that he did ‘ press 
you so,’ and I only counselled with him as a real 
friend of our family, with a view, I confess, to check 
a fondness that I feared was having its beginning 
between that wild Grenville boy and yourself. You 
know that after his strange condnct at Grenville, he 
even wrote you a letter? ” 

“Yes; but, papa, if the circumstances deceived 
you and Mr. Poor, and he was not under the influ- 
ence of drink, you wouldn’t like to do a young man 
a great injury?” 

“ Of course, not, child. I don’t know the boy by 
sight. He may be even the best boy in the State. 
But surely appearances were against him ? I don t 
thiftk much of his vacation-spree anyhow ; but I will 
never risk the happiness of a daughter of mine by 
permitting her to associate with a dissolute young 
man.” 

“ Papa, I do not reason about it ; but somehow I . 


RETURN TO COLLEGE, 


309 


feel in my heart that Donald Woodward was not 
intoxicated, and that a great wrong has been done 
him.” 

She said this little speech with so much decision 
of manner and voice, that her father took a look at 
her face. It was very pale, the lips were pressed 
together firmly, and her dark eyes seemed looking 
and searching for truth in the spirit-land, rather 
than being busy with present and visible things. 
He turned . away with a slight impatience, and hit 
his horse a pretty sharp cut, which cut brought them 
on their journey at greatly increased speed. 

They were soon at Mr. Snow’s cottage. Mr. 
Jasper, always full of business and generally pre- 
occupied by it, declined his sister’s invitation to 
stay and dine ; drove off after Eva had alighted 
and thrown herself into her auntie’s arms, in a 
way, her father thought, strangely affectionate for 
her. The truth was, she was flying from strong 
parental caution to loving sympathy, and possibly 
help. 

Mrs. Snow and Eva had an hour to themselves 
before Hattie’s return from school. In the chamber 
Eva carefully bathed her face, after a few hot, un- 
bidden tears, smoothed her hair and arranged her 
dress, took her work, and descended to the pleasant 
sitting-room. There these two worked away silently 
for a few minutes, when Eva looked up with bright, 
moistened eyes, and said : 

“ Now, auntie, for the * something in particular’.” 


3io 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“Yes, that story about young Woodward’s spree 
is all false.” 

“Oh, I knew it ! I knew it ! I told papa so this 
morning ; I could feel that it was a falsehood all the 
time.” 

Then, Aunt Sarah Snow gives Eva a graphic ac- 
count of her affecting and more than satisfactory 
interview with Donald and Sam. 

“What ought / to do, auntie? I did not even 
answer his pleasant note, and he thinks for that I 
must believe the story ! Papa has forbidden me to 
answer his note ! ” 

“I believe,” says the 'Careful aunt, “that you 
ought to make him a little amends for unconsciously 
adding to the strength of his sickness, now that you 
have it in your power. You need not answer his 
note, but with my sanction, and by my request, you 
can invite him by an original note to come with his 
room-mate and take tea with us Saturday evening 
next. I will be fully responsible to my dear brother, 
Daniel Jasper.” 

“ Capital , capital ! ” and she gave her aunt a sus- 
picious hug and kiss. 

This is the way the most careful counsellings are 
set at nought, the most complete warnings are 
flanked, and the most fervid revolutions set in mo- 
tion, to disturb the harmony of a family. And yet 
it is done with a most scrupulous and conscientious 
conformity to the letter of instructions, and surely, 
as in this case, with a full intent to keep sacred in 


RETURN TO COLLEGE. 


31 1 

spirit and letter the Fifth Commandment. It is 
done by following the loving instincts of two 
women’s hearts. One “feels” the other “knows.” 
Feeling and knowledge come together, and then 
there is resistless action. 

Here’s the note, produced, like Donald’s, after 
sundry trials : 

“At Mrs. Snow’s, ) 
“Mason, November — , 18 — . ) 

“ Dear Mr. Woodward, — Aunt Sarah wishes 
me to invite you and Mr. Yardley here to tea next 
Saturday evening. We shall expect you. 

“With esteem, Eva Jasper.” 

Friday morning had been a cheerful one for Donald. 
Professor Pressley had read the Thirty-seventh Psalm, 
commencing: “Fret not thyself because of evil- 
doers.” The injunction in the eighth verse of the 
Psalm fixed itself in his memory : “ Cease from 
anger, and forsake wrath; fret not thyself in any- 
wise to do evil.” 

A young intellect, by some singular freak, probably 
directly inspired by the Evil Tempter, often digs 
away to undermine the foundations of truth with a 
bitter, half-formed, unexpressed hope of overturning 
the whole Divine Law and Gospel of revealed relig- 
ion, and yet at the very same time keeps laying by 
its pointed sayings. “ Fret not,” “ Cease from 
anger,” and “Forsake wrath,” fall upon Donald’s 
heart frpm the gentle, godly man’s lips, like the re- 
freshing dew upon the parching grass. He hears and 


3' 2 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


remembers, and listens to the Professor’s entreaty 
that follows: 

“O Lord, if there be any slanders or misunder- 
standings that make our hearts bitter or unhappy, do 
so lighten up our surroundings^as to make everything 
plain ; that our paths may be again strewed with 
flowers; that nothing may keep us away from 
thee.” 

Donald was lighter-hearted as he proceeded from 
morning prayers to recitation. The same Professor, 
always kind, called him up to recite in the odes of 
Horace. He made a good recitation, and answered 
all the grammar questions, which are usually very 
trying, so that the “ paths ” seemed strewed with 
flowers (as is always the case during moments of quiet 
contentment). 

While Donald was en route to breakfast, Henry 
Haviland Poor spoke a pleasant word to him this 
morning. He doubtless often did, but Donald re- 
membered it at this time. It was this: “I want to 
thank you for the temperance stand you took the 
other night when those ‘ medics ’ invited you to 
their wine and card party. I heard you give them 
a good round NO.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Poor; you probably think me 
a recent convert, but I signed my little brother’s 
pledge during my course at Monray, not to drink 
‘wine or strong drink,’ and I have never broken it.” 
Donald said this with just a little bitterness, and 
using that old half-smile of his, as he turned his eyes 
upon Poor. 


RETURN TO COLLEGE. 


313 


Henry Haviland Poor was embarrassed. He col- 
ored in his face and neck (all you could see of it be- 
tween the ears of his stiff standing collar). He was 
conscious that in expressing, believing, and repeating 
to Eva and Mrs. Jasper his father’s story, his sorrow 
that young Woodward had so far forgotten himself 
as to drink to excess, and in declaring that “ the poor 
fellow had to pay fearfully for his folly,” that with 
these insinuations and such as these he had done 
incalculable injury to Donald ; the conscientious 
Poor began to see it, and to be exceedingly sorry him- 
self. Donald surmised something of the kind, and 
somehow the suspicion of the working truth gave 
him at this time an additional lift of cheerfulness. 
Then he and Sam walked briskly in the sharp cold 
of the morning to the Nyoton post-office, and in- 
quired at the square opening : “ Letters, sir, for 
Donald Woodward or Sam Ya.rdley?” 

“ Here’s one for Donald Woodward, a drop let- 
ter!” 

It was a pretty little note, backed in a neat lady’s 
hand. “ What can it mean ? ” 

Donald breaks the seal, reads the note, and cries 
out, “ Heigho, Sam. This is a grand old day ! ” 

Sam takes the note, as Donald extends his hand 
to him with it open, and reads the invitation. 

“ Nothing worth a great fuss, Don. But, how- 
somever, guess we’ll go. Your clouds lift, while 
mine come down ; I haven’t had a letter for a 
month.” 


3 14 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“ It seems to me, Sam, that you and I are like two 
boys astride of a teter-joist across the top-rail; as 
you go up (behold Renut school-house), I go down. 
And as I go up (see my first letter), you go down.” 

“Well, then, Don,” says Sam, “let’s smash down 
the fence.” 

“No, no; we’d both be down then, Sam. I’ll tell 
you what, we’ll get a couple of parsons by-and-by 
to prop us up, both of us, or we’ll each try somebody 
else opposite.” 

The next day found the young men in due sea- 
son neatly shaved and well dusted, with cloaks and 
tall hats on, standing by the bell-knob of Mr. 
Snow’s pretty cottage. Hattie comes to the door: 
“Well, Mr. Donald, glad to see you — glad to see 
you both; come in.” 

Mrs. Snow and Miss Eva rise to meet them. The 
meeting of Eva and Donald has been meditated on 
and planned by both parties. It is, under the cir- 
cumstances, a troublesome, trembling ordeal, accord- 
ing to the preconception ; but somehow this Satur- 
day evening everything works in propitiously. As 
she rose from her rocking-chair it rocked back and 
hit the tiny work-table, upset the dainty work-bas- 
ket thereon, so that thread, needles, spools, but- 
tons, etc., flew around the room (of course, this was 
not of the preconception). It is then : 

“ How do you do, Mr. Yardley ! ” “ How do you 

do, Mr. Don — Mr. Woodward, I mean.” “ How do 
you do, Miss Jasper; allow me to help you pick up 


RETURN TO COLLEGE. 


315 


the fragments. ' These young heads (and probably 
these young hearts) are not far asunder during this 
restorative operation. 

It is not long before Mrs. Snow tells Sam she has 
a little conservatory up-stairs that she wishes to 
show him, and then asks Hattie to go for the * ‘ field 
glass,* as, “ we can go to the cupola, and get the 
best kind of view of the country.' 

Eva and Donald are thus left by themselves for 
the first time. He begins at once, taking a seat 
near her, so that he can look into her face. 

“ Did you believe x Miss Jasper that horrid story ?” 

“No, never.’ 

“ Why didn’t you answer my letter, just to say it 
was not proper for you to correspond, if no 
more ? 

“ Papa saw you, and mistook your exhaustion 
for intoxication. He and Mr. Poor convinced 
mother ; the Snows went away before I saw 
them after the ride. Papa and mamma said I 
must not write you. So I obeyed them, feeling 
all the time that the story of your misconduct 
was false.” 

“Now, Miss Jasper, I’ve no rights to plead, but I 
cannot help telling you the truth. You have en- 
tered into my whole life. During that long, pain- 
ful sickness, I thought. I had been mistaken* I had 
a letter from Poor, which warned me that your 
hand was spoken for, and I tried to shut you out 
but I couldn’t do it, and I cannot.” 


3 16 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


“ How could Henry Poor write you such a thing, 
that ‘ my hand was spoken for' ? 

“ I have Poor’s letter in my pocket. I wanted to 
show it to you, if I got a chance. Here it is. ' 

Eva reads it, and then tells Donald that Mr. 
Poor is altogether mistaken ; and says, frankly, “ If 
papa will consent, I shall be very happy to have 
you write me. He and mamma think me too young 
to think of being engaged. Now, aren t we good 
friends again? You needn’t try to cast me out now, 
for the weather is getting very cold indeed,” she 
said, with playful archness. 

Donald has found a piece in her aunt’s music- 
book that he wishes her to play and sing, letting 
him try the bass. The music has commenced as 
Hattie burst in the room, probably hoping to sur- 
prise them and have “ a chance to tease Eva.” Mrs. 
Snow and Sam soon follow, and declare they have 
seen a glorious sunset, which it is too bad Mr. 
Woodward and Eva have lost. Hattie says : “ They 
are very stupid young people, not to find anything 
better to do than to sing together.” 

Thus the time is filled up with nonsense. Oh, how 
much real meaning, through the mouth, the eyes, 
the expressions of face, neck, hands, arms, and body, 
of everybody is breathed, is thrown, into nonsense ! 

Now, as we have other work than to follow 
these young people through their alternating 
hopes and fears, and as the expressions of love 
making are much the same everywhere, we will leave 


RETURN TO COLLEGE. 


317 


a gap to be filled in, in graphic detail, by the 
reader. 

Mrs. Sarah Snow, about forty, sprightly, active, 
loving to do good, has a face that beams with just 
the good that is in her heart. It is she that acts as 
the mediator. The Jaspers are brought to see 
Donald in the best light. Henry Haviland Poor is 
made to feel that Eva is too giddy for him. She 
is not even a “ professing Christian.” The whole suc- 
cess of his missionary life depends on his having 
the right sort of a wife. He would, of course, risk 
Eva, with the hope of her speedy reformation; but 
she could not and would not risk herself ; for though 
she was too young, and did not say so, yet she 
did in her heart love Donald with a deep, sincere, 
and, as it proved, unchanging affection. And he 
loved her for herself, without giving or caring to 
give any social or Christian reasons for it, or any 
other. He just did so, and that was all there was 
of it ! After Donald’s return to Grenville, where he 
taught the winter school, he received a letter from 
Eva in answer to his first note, with the full con- 
sent of her father and mother, and to the no little 
satisfaction of Donald’s mother, for she saw that his 
life began to be happier and steadier. The correspond- 
ence thus opened was not intermitted till something 
took place which yet belongs to the “ by-and-by.” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


THE CONVERSION OF HENRY WOODWARD — DONALD 
AND SAM ON RELIGION. 

I N the fall of 18 — and spring of 18 — we find our 
Henry shifting quietly back and forth from Gren- 
ville to Yarrot Academy, as vacations come and go. 
He goes along noiselessly, like the machinery of a 
good locomotive, with very little friction. He es- 
capes the penalty of being caught at picking up other 
people’s apples, taking melons or grapes off the vines, 
or gathering up the neighbors’ hen’s, geese, and 
turkeys’ eggs, simply because he believed such 
things wrong, and would never do them. Still, if 
we should get the idea into our minds that Henry 
was a weakling, or a sort of a milk-and-water 
kind of a boy, we should do him a great injustice. 
He is now (March, 18 — ) fifteen ; not very full built; 
tall enough — five feet eight ; rather thin from chest 
to back, compared with his unusual breadth from 
shoulder to shoulder; has a roundish, smiling face, 
ruddy withal ; the old, large, clear, steady blue eye ; 
very fine, dark-brown hair; a square forehead, of 
318 


CONVERSION OF HENRY WOODWARD. 319 

medium height, slightly receding. When he stands 
up. he is very erect. Such is the shape into which 
Henry is outwardly moulded at fifteen. 

He is not very forward in forming new acquaint- 
ances; is rather shy of the numerous bright-eyed 
girls at Yarrot ; actually laughs and blushes as they 
meet him on the side-walks, and whisper to one 
another something like this: “Don’t think he’s 
rough enough for a boy.” “Wonder if he’d run if 
you spoke to him.” 

Henry will go whole squares to avoid the annoy- 
ing embarrassment of their levity. Let us get a lit- 
tle closer to Henry through his room-mate, William 
West, of the town of Notlew. He was a short, 
thick-set young man, of perhaps twenty-two years ; 
very abundant black hair; low, square forehead; 
large black eyes; heavy brows, and heavy eye- 
lashes. He is as decided a character, already fully 
fledged, like Henry Haviland Poor; but more firm 
and manly in his ways, and positive in everything, 
in manners, belief, utterance, thought, and accom- 
plishment. 

“ Come, Harry,” he says, one evening, “ I want 
you to go to the students’ prayer-meeting to-night.'' 

“ All right, West ; I don’t mind if I do.” (A sort of 
an indifferent assent). 

“Now, Harry, my dear fellow, I have never had a 
better-natured, more accommodating youth to room 
with than you.” 

“ Thank you, West ; didn’t know that you would 


320 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


allow your lips to speak such smooth, flattering 
words.' 

“ Perhaps ’tis the principle of ‘ all things to all 
men,’ that I may catch you. I was going to put in 
a ‘ but 

“ Go on with the but , for a boy better feel bad 
before going to a prayer-meeting, hadn’t he ? ” 

“ Well, I was going to say that every one of my 
room-mates, and I’ve had four, became Christians 
sooner than you.” 

“ ‘ Christians] West ! Why, the trouble is that 
I’m a natural-born Christian. Show me where I da 
wrong, and I’ll stop. I don’t swear, I don’t lie, I 
don’t steal.” 

“Yes, I know that, Harry; you think yourself 
awfully good ; that sort of self-righteousness never 
brought a man even to the edges of the Kingdom of 
Heaven.” 

“ Show me then, you saucy man, how to be better, 
and see if I don’t try.” 

“ I want you to see and feel that you are a great 
sinner. Then you will be willing to be saved.” 

“ But I don’t believe I am.” 

“ Let’s try you, Harry ; suppose the academy and 
halls should get on fire, and you got out, paying no 
attention to anybody but yourself ; you let several 
other students burn up that you might have warned, 
and Mr. Quickman (the principal) calls you up 
about it ; you make this defence : ‘ I didn’t set the 
fire. It wasn’t my turn to watch, I haven’t broken 


CONVERSION OF HENRY WOODWARD. 32 1 

any of the rules of the school,’ etc. Do you think 
it would hold water?” 

How do you apply it to me, West?” 

“ Why, this — you couldn’t do so ; if you got clear, 
you would cry out without ceasing, and exert your- 
self to the utmost to save your companions. So, if 
you had really found your Saviour, you couldn’t 
quietly leave so many of your friends in darkness 
and danger — present darkness, and in danger of 
never , never getting out. Don’t you see, you must 
be still a pretty hard-hearted and thoughtless 
sinner?” 

Henry in his easy good-nature was not convinced, 
but he was silenced and set to thinking. They went 
to the meeting, and Henry became then a careful, 
thoughtful listener. He, soon after this interview, 
saw that a man must be judged not altogether by 
his abstaining from violations of the law, but by 
what he was required to do. 

“ A tree may not bear thorns, or support poison- 
ous vines entwined around its trunk and limbs; yet 
if there is no life in it, and it brings forth no fruit, 
it isn’t good for much while standing.” So said 
West to Harry one day, as they kneel together, to 
ask God for help. The result in due time is that 
Henry at fifteen puts on the armor of a Christian’s 
faith. He, too, like William West, becomes a pos- 
itive worker. Henry had hardly felt the new joy of 
a contentment and abiding trust in his Saviour, 
when he wrote his mother about it, and wrote also 


322 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


his brother Donald, with a prayer and hope that 
Donald might become a Christian. His letter is 
brief, and we will give it : 


“ Yarrot Academy, March — , 18 — •. 

“ Dear Brother Donald, — I have just come to 
find that my heart wasn’t what it ought to be. I 
was self-righteous. I did not even try to save any- 
body from his sins. I didn’t have any real love for 
the Saviour. My room-mate, Mr. William West — I 
wish you knew him — he prayed for me, with me, and 
told me the way. At last I’ve given up my obstinate 
will , and my heart is full of peace. Oh, Donald, do 
try to be a Christian. I shall pray for you every 
day. You must make room for me next fall, won’t 

you, Don? Your loving brother, Henry.” 


When Henry’s good letter is received at Nyoton, 
Donald reads it over two or three times. He is a 
Junior now, and Sam is a Senior, to graduate at the 
coming commencement in August. The two young 
men are about alike in all moral matters, except 
that Sam is more given to direct violations of God’s 
holy commandments than Donald. Donald, too, 
is always more inclined to take matters seriously. 
Sam was at this time deeply engaged in mastering 
the text of “ Butler’s Analogy,” a book, as is well 
known, pregnant with meaning, but so concise and 
technical, with so much left to be inferred, that stu- 
dents made hard work of it. Sam would work away 


DONALD AND SAM ON RELIGION. 323 

at it, and often swear at any old doctor who would 
write such English. He didn’t believe the Rev. Doc- 
tor understood his subject, or he would have made it 
plainer. “That’s the way old Professor ‘Ne plus’ 
always talked to us in calculus: ‘No use talking, 
gentlemen, if a man knows anything he can explain 
it. Obscurity of language only covers up obscurity 
of knowledge.’ ” 

Sam is arraigning the ancient D. D. in his usu- 
ally droll way, when Donald, laughing, says : “ Sam, 
I’ve just received a letter from Henry, that I will 
read to you if you will listen ; I hope it will do you 
good, as it is plainer than Doctor Butler’s English. 
I want to ask you what you think of it.” 

“All right, old fellow, if it will do the like of me 
any good, go on.” 

Donald then reads Henry’s letter slowly and aloud. 

“ Don’t think it fits my case, Don. I’m not self- 
righteous ; not righteous at all ; do not pretend to 
be; my will isn’t obstinate; sometime, I hope, 
Brother Brown’s free grace will catch me, like .a 
brook-sucker in a net. Mary could do better than 
the old man ; but she gets in a miff at things that I 
write when I have the blues, and then says on 
paper, ‘ I think I am not suited to one so far supe- 
rior.’ .Jerusalem ! (with double emphasis on the 
Je ). Excuse me, Don : we were talking pious.” 

Nothing could prevent Donald from laughing at 
Sam, for there he sits with his feet on the table, 
and his fine Senior hat drawn down over his eyes, 


324 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


and his teeth firmly set, and lips apart, as he says 
“ y^-rusalem ! ” 

“ Come, Sam ; if Mary is humble-minded, that 
won’t hurt her.” 

“Yes, I know, Don. But you see it’s all humbug. 
The trouble is that Silas J. Elliott, that nice young 
farmer! He has a house and barn and pig-pen and 
a farm. He is large and muscular (why is it the 
women like giants?) Parson Brown has an eye to 
* the things that now aire.' I don’t think I can be 
a Christian till I’ve tightened the necktie of some 
interlopers ! ” 

““I believe, Sam, you are growing wicked. Now I 
just keep doubting and doubting, and not believing. 
There’s Henry Haviland Poor,” — he’s now in the sem- 
inary — “since he helped put up that drunken job on 
me, I don’t think much of him, as you once said, 
nor of his Christianity; but I like Steph Curtis bet- 
ter. He got pious after his Gabriel-trumpet affair. 
He doesn’t make any fuss about his religion ; doesn’t 
keep bothering other people, like Poor, Prof. Maple, 
and the rest of them ; but goes on about his busi- 
ness, always at prayers, lectures, and church, and 
reads his Bible.” 

Here the subject dropped. The conversation, 
however, guages the then condition of these young 
men. One is full of conscious sin, and present 
trouble and worries. The other is blinded by the 
faults of Christians; seldom or never looks above 
human frailty, and he worries. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


COMMENCEMENT— SAM PREPARING HIS ORATION— 
SKY'S ORIGINAL POEM. 

AM’S commencement comes at last. It is five 



O years since he entered the college, and four 
years, lacking a few weeks, since Donald and Andrew 
Macomber made their first appearance at the old 
Medical Hall for examination. Sam has passed all 
his examinations ; has his oration, an English pro- 
duction on the subject of “ True Nobility ,” in readi- 
ness. His father, mother, Mr. and Miss Brown are 
coming. Miss B. and he are now again on proba- 
tion ; Silas J. Elliott is, at least temporarily, sus- 
pended. Sam practises before the mirror; sticks 
his hair up at foretop by running his fingers through 
it, and says: “ Hurray, hurray ! get out of the way/* 
etc. “ Here’s for it, Don, if you don’t laugh ; if you 
do, I’ll choke your necktie.* 

“Go ahead, Sam; I’ll criticise.” 

He begins, with enforced soberness of face : 

“ True Nobility lies more in the heart than in such 
accidents as birth, the appointments of potentates, 


325 


326 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


the inheritance of estates, or the commissions awarded 
for military achievements.” 

“ Hold on, Sam ; you don’t consider my birth an 
accident , do you ?” 

“No; I guess yours was predestinated. Tell us 
what word to put in there, you critic ! ” 

“Well, put in ‘ circumstances.’ ” 

Then Sam tries “circumstances,” beginning again, 
“True Nobility,” etc. 

Don laughs at his gestures, and doubts whether 
birth is a circumstance or not. 

“Come now, Don Woodward, I’ll never get on; 
we’ll try ‘ things.’ ‘ Things ’ will answer for thought, 
word, or deed, and for all of them.” 

Sam begins again, putting the word “things” in 
the place of “ accidents.” Just at this moment Sky 
Haskell bursts into the room with his tall form. Sam 
stops his speech and takes up his song, and Donald 
adds : “ Sky, if you don’t keep out of here, Sam will 
never be able to get his oration ready. 

Sky says, “Then just listen to my dissertation on 
‘Time.’ ” 

He steps to the middle of the floor and, recites 
What he calls “ an original poem ” : 

“ On my lounge behold me! 

It was well past midnight ; 

Freight engine breaks the silence. 

Shrieking its maniac yell. 

Vast stillness is deeper, 

Deeper, when the lumb’ring cars* 

Receding roar cease their sound. 


sky’s original poem. 


327 


The silver moon had set ; 

A few stars, clear, clustered, 

Shone to my upturned face. 

Gazing through casement west, 

A sight strange and sudden 
Meets my startled vision. 

A frosted-headed man. 

With grizzly beard ; immense ; 

With orbs like fi x-ed stars ; 

Gaze to gaze how steady ! 

Holds me spell-bound, breathless. 
Window’s breadth and height he fills 
With his giant figure ; 

His face, cold and smileless, 
Searching, moveless, probing, 

Chills me to the heart-core ! 

His bosom rose and fell 
As tree-shadows, breeze-blown, 

In quiet waters cast. 

My eye drops in terror ; 

When lo ! near the fiame-work, 

Held with arms out-reaching, 

A lovely infant lies, 

With eyes keen as diamonds ; 

Cheeks as round as apples ; 

Hair in careless ringlets ; 

With increase pays my smile, 

And stretches dimpled hands 
To show fullest trusting. 

My soul fills with yearning 
To hold the ‘wee bairnie’ 

Against my breast-throbbing ; 

Sure, though helpless comfort. 

To face the monster’s gaze. 

Babes thus comfort mothers 
When robbers come at night, 

In close, closer claspings 
At danger’s near approach. 


328 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


I start, moving forward. 

‘ Thou fooSsh student, hold ! ’ 
(Voice from window comes) 

‘ Dare not touch the infant ! ’ 
(Sounds both clear and cold-like) 

‘ The vision instructs thee.’ 

(Orbs bright, wrinkles deeper) 

‘ Be thou still and fearless !’ 

Heart flutt’ring, I stammer. 

From lips pale with terror, 

‘Tell me, horrid giant, 

What name thine ; what art thou ! * 
Bending nearer to me 
Th’ aged, wrinkled monster 
Whispers shrill and piercing, 

Like night-wind through fir-trees, 
Round some crazy structure, 

‘ I’m the risen Ancient. 

Days on earth were numbered 
Into years and cycles. 

Methuselah ’s my name. 

I come from the ages 
True wisdom to impart. 

Time , Time , Time is my theme, 
Time stood by me, longest ! 

By precious babe, shortest ! 

Ages gone, God took me ; 

This very night the child 
From frantic mother parted. 

So, Time is long and old. 

He was born before me ; 

His shape no man telleth ; 

His head’s in the sun’s face ; 

His body’s robed in spangles 
Of bright stars above you. 

This earth’s in his holding 
As in mine this infant. 

Time’s heart pulsates seconds ; 


sky’s original poem. 


329 


His hands he moves by year ; 

His feet swing the hundreds. 

He somersaults the thousands. 

He’s big as the universe ; 

As long as life renew’d. 

He grants me longest life ; 

Spoils my firm-knit body ; 

The same he’s done to men. 

Women cannot cheat him ; 

Baby forms he stifles, 

Or catches in his net-work. 

Between Methuselah 

And * ‘ Bairnie ” smiling, bright. 

Ages, sexes, kindreds, 

All ; millions are compris’d. 

Old Time ceas’d not to watch 
To catch them here and there ; 

On shore or on the ocean, 

Some time from youth to age, 

And bear them to his bounds ; 

And to darkness cast them — 

Boundless and eternal, 

If death could have his sway. 

But there’s a grander Saviour 
Who loves and watches always, 

Who plucks all willing victims, 

And brings them into sunlight. 

In forehead doth Christ mark them ~ 

Puts on their brows submission ; 

Then wreathes their necks with garlands. 
And crowns their heads with glory, 

And breathes his spirit through them. 

So now they cry with shouting : 

“ Time , Time , changing, fickle ; 

Time , Tune , keeps us no more ! 

Joy and brightness dawn upon us, 

Light and love, love eternal.’ 


330 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


The hair and head of Giant 
Became more snow in whiteness, 

The eyes beam colors warmer, 

While ‘ Bairnie ’ leaps in gladness. 

And is wrapt the nearer 

The old man’s throbbing breast! 

Howling watch-dogs’ wak’ning, 

Start the college echoes, 

And the visions vanish 
To the twinkling clusters 
Sparkling in the distance ; 

To the vaults of heaven.” 

“ Where did you get that, Sky ? ” asked both 
young men, as he ceased his rehearsal. 

“ Why, don’t you see, that’s my dream that I had 
the other night on my lounge when I was too lazy 
to go to bed ; and if the critical old Prof. Dooly 
will take it in spite of the violation of the rules of 
scanning, why I’ll risk it as my commencement 
part.” 

“ Why, that’s grand ; puts my nose out of joint 
with my prose ! ” says Sam. “ There is no use being 
tall for nothing; ' Sky ’ gets poetry up there where 
his head is, among the stars.” 

“Why shouldn’t he?” asks Donald. “ His very 
name is ‘Sky;’ what you call a man has a strong in- 
fluence over him. He bends his energies in that 
way. ‘ Sky ’ is sky-ward ! ” 

“All right, gentlemen ; I accept your compliments 
in the generous spirit in which they are given.” 

In this way, half in fun and half in earnest, with 
a goodly mixture of labor and humor, the Senior stu- 


COMMENCEMENT. 


331 


dents make themselves ready for the closing scene 
of their college life. 

Sam declares after Sky has gone that he is not 
going to submit any more to Donald's sharpness, 
for he does nothing but pick flaws. “ Don, there 
is only one thing in this world that you think is 
anywhere near perfect.” 

“ What is that, Sam.” 

“ It is Eva Jasper , of course. By the way, are 
you going to stay to my commencement, and to in- 
vite all your friends?” 

“Yes, I think I shall, for Henry is coming early 
to enter. Father and mother would like to come, 
and the Snows and the Jaspers always come. And 
I confess it will be a comfort to go with Eva to hear 
the eloquent and promising young graduate, Sam- 
uel Yardley, perform.” 

“Not a graduate; not an alumnus, my dear 
Woodward, till after the denouement ; that is the 
commencement.” 

Donald concludes to stay, so he sends out his let- 
ters of invitation accordingly. As he has never cyet 
fairly answered Henry’s letter, which told him of his 
new joy, except indirectly through his mother, he 
begins by writing to him. He says: 

“Nyoton College, July — , 18 — . 

My very dear Brother, — I do not think I ever 
gave you any proper reply to the letter you wrote 
me last March, and I haven’t seen you since. I am 


332 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


very glad indeed that you have become a Christian, 
I hope that I shall become one some of these days. 
You were fortunate in having a pious room-mate. 
Sam cannot be swapped away, but he and I plod 
around in the dark halls and try to find the gate out 
of it all. He doesn’t help me, nor I him much. I 
am all full of doubts : Christians don’t get up to 
their standard anywhere, never. The college room 
is ready for you ; Sam goes of course, and you come 
in. I can help you, and you will be a help to me 
now. Come before commencement. Father and 
mother will be down. Hope you’ll get in square. 

“ Affectionately your brother, 

“ Don.” 

“ P. S. — Eva is longing to see you and mother.” 

Commencement-day was Wednesday, the second 
week in August. The exercises are to be held in 
the Congregational Church. They are to begin in 
good earnest at io A. M. The multitude has as- 
sembled. It is a large one, a gay one, on com- 
mencement-day. The sun is bright and hot out of 
doors. Every seat is full ; the outer hall is 
crowded, and rear men are standing on tip-toe to 
look over the heads and shoulders of those in front. 
A marshal or a sub-marshal stands at each door, 
and the chief marshal stands with his good-sized 
staff in hand on the pulpit platform, that has been 
temporarily extended. Ordinary alumni are in the 
front seats. Ancient, white-headed, bald-headed, dis- 


COMMENCEMENT. 


333 


tinguished alumni are on long seats or chairs, right 
and left, on the platform. President, with flat, 
topped, four-cornered hat, sits up high in the pul- 
pit, well back; an elderly, reverend graduate (for 
chaplain) near him. Student-ushers sidle back and 
forth, with rosettes and ribbons on coats, conduct, 
ing standing ladies to possible vacant spaces. The 
brass band r hired for the occasion b*y the Seniors, is 
in company with the big organ over the principal 
hall of entrance, with its outlook straight before 
the pulpit. The marshal stands there, in the pres- 
ence of age, dignity, and honor. He is an alumnus 
of three years. His face is full and smiling; his 
proportions aldermanic; short black hair, well- 
parted high up; white gloves; red, white, and blue 
ribbons on staff and on coat ; staff leaning like a lance 
at rest against one arm ; and tall hat gracefully held 
against the other. He glances around, like a re- 
viewing officer on parade* the centre of all eyes. 
How many fans in motion ! And what gay and 
nice ones! At commencement it is a breach of eti- 
quette, almost akin to a sin, to wear a light-colored 
coat. The coats are dark, black; the ladies all 
have bonnets, dresses, ornaments, substantial and 
unsubstantial, solid and gauzy, gloves and gaiters, 
in the height of commencement fashion, according 
to the strictest rules prescribed by those ladies who 
have sent around in thousands of unwritten circu- 
lars, to wit: “ They wear at commencement gloves 
of Miss Brindle’s pattern; hats of Mrs. Jaunty’s 


334 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


style; laces directly imported from Paris,” etc., etc. 
It is: “ They say,” “ They wear ,” and “ They dorit 
wear.” But wonderful to tell, genius beyond con- 
ception or calculation! there is seldom a mistake! 
The marshal and the President, from under his 
broad quadrangular top, see the students’ gallery 
filled (enough black coats for a setting) with a 
wavy, feathery, gauzy, beautiful, harmonious vari-. 
ety of charming women. The light in full day is 
rich, soft, and flattering. Opposite, it is the same. 
In that gallery is Mrs. Woodward. Donald was a 
little afraid the circulars of aggregated female wis* 
dom might not have reached her in Grenville, but 
one glance commencement morning is enough. Eva 
and she had been together at Mrs. Snow’s over 
night. She (Eva) smiles a keen recognition to 
Donald in answer to his unspoken criticism or satis- 
faction, and then gives him a slight shake of the 
head which means : “ Ladies may hold you to black 
coats, but you men have no right to any thought 
but commendation of a lady’s rig." Also Mrs. Snow, 
with Hattie; Mrs. Jasper and her daughters, and a 
host of others. On this occasion Mrs. Snow has 
Henry on one side of her and Hattie on the other. 
Henry is very bashful, but less so than if Mrs. Snow 
had offered to change places with him. Donald, 
now well established in the Jasper family (a thing 
known of and recognized now), sits composedly be- 
tween his mother and Eva. Mr. Woodward and 
Mr. Snow point the group by a seat just in front. 


COMMENCEMENT. 


335 


These ladies’ fans, like all the others, are waving 
and perfuming; every one has a. programme in 
hand. 

The marshal says, “Order gentleman;” all this 
buzzing and ^variety of treble that fills the house 
with happy sounds surely does not belong to gentle- 
men, probably not one-fifth of it* yet it is: “Order, 
gentlemen ! ” “ First exercise, music.” 

A grand old hymn is played, loud and strong, by 
the band, the galleries, the bare beams, and the 
sounding-board responding. Then without a word 
a great silence follows : when the silvery-headed 
alumnus D. D., standing with closed eyes, in pleas- 
ant, clear voice, asks for the Divine benediction. 
The marshal retires to the door of entrance after 
another “ Music ! ” and the President in his high 
seat, like a king on his throne, holds the platform, 
floor, and galleries under his control. Now, with a 
genial smile, he bends slightly forward and says : 

“ Salutatory oration in Latin . Peter Cartwright 
Gosper, DalportP 

Gosper, a short, jolly young man, with black- 
bowed spectacles on his nose, advances quickly to 
the side of the platform ; his long black gown is 
flowing to his feet and trips him in his up-steps, this 
sort of armor not being sufficiently proven : so he 
laughs and blushes as he makes his low bow to the 
President. (Hattie fears his glasses may fall.) He 
then turns, walks a step or two to the middle of the 
platform, and again bows. He now opens with a 


336 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


flood of Latin, which all professors, students, and 
alumni pretend to understand and enjoy (a harm- 
less humbug). It makes mysterious impressions 
on mothers, daughters, and uneducated friends, and 
heightens and deepens the reverence they entertain 
for these places of ancient learning. One thing is 
made certain; it is the significance of his motions. 
(He turns to the professors and says : “ Professores.” 
He then turns to his classmates.ajnd says : “ Sodales.” 
Then he looks forth to the seats below, and the gal- 
leries above, and says sweetly, u Puellae ! *’) The thing 
certain, Mrs. Woodward and Eva think, is that he 
is saying something in particular to each of the sev- 
eral classes toward whom he turns. After the salu- 
tatory is over, then Gosper bows himself off in the 
inverse order of his coming. Now, the President, 
as the genteel applause dies away, and the young 
man has gathered up both his long gown and at 
least six bouquets that were showered around him in 
thumps dangerous to his glasses and to the flowers, 
again interrupts the increasing buzz and gentle clat- 
ter by — 

*' Dissertation . — (Substitute, an original poem) — 
Subject, Time. — 'George William Haskell , Clinton .” 

“Sky* moves out, stiff and straight and tall as he 
is, with humor in every posture and motion. His 
gown hardly comes to his knees, so that he looks like 
a big boy in short clothes, having come to breakfast 
without his belt. He takes very short steps, toes 
down, so as not to step on his surplice as Gosper had 


COMMENCEMENT. 


337 


done (studentes and puellae laugh or titter behind 
programmes and fans). His bows are a la mode to 
the kingly President (Henry thinks a little too low 
for real reverence). Then he gives his poem, some- 
what extended and improved from his first recital at 
Yardley’s room. 

A hush follows as he stretches his long arms sky- 
ward and rises on his toes, looking at the rafters, and 
says in closing : 

“ And the visions vanished 
To the twinkling clusters, 

Sparkling in the distance, 

To the vaults of Heaven.” 

Then the hands clap, the kerchiefs wave, and the 
tongues clatter and clamor in all keys, with three 
distinct rounds of applause ; while flowers in 
bunches little and big line Sky’s returning pathway 
to his seat below. 

Then the President, with another smile and for- 
ward bending, slightly touching his strange hat, in 
tones musical and deep, says : 

“ English' Oration — ‘ True Nobility Samuel Yard- 
ley, Renut T 

Sam is “scared" (he owns it afterwards). For 
there were the old gent and his matter-of-fact 
mother, the favorite minister and his daughter Mary, 
there in the audience, right before him ; and there 
were the Snows, the Jaspers, and the Woodwards to 
his right, and all those il grinning fellers ” every- 
where front, right, and left! How could a man 


338 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


keep his countenance. His gown sags a little back, 
making it rather short in front, like the “ hall- 
woman’s work-dress. In his excitement he has 
stuck his foretop straight up. He marches, how- 
ever, with apparent boldness and some redness of 
face to the side position, nods to the President 
much as you would to a friend on the street (his 
father trembles, his Mary smiles), then proceeds to 
the centre of the platform, where he forgets further 
obeisance ; settles back on his haunches, with one 
foot well advanced, like a soldier at rest on parade, 
lifts his right hand in gesture as he begins : 

“ True nobility lies more in the heart than in such 
things as birth, the appointments of potentates, the 
inheritance of estates, or the commissions awarded 
for military achievements,” etc. 

Sam runs it off in earnest tones, increasing in force 
and gaining in sympathy and fervor as he advances. 
On a sudden he comes to a stop, hesitates an in- 
stant ;• memory revives, then with more internal fire, 
raging almost to fierceness, he rushes on to the end. 
Sam is a favorite. His bouquets are rich and too 
many (Mary Brown thinks). Off he starts, be- 
thinks himself, turns to the smiling President, gives 
another nod, and then descends the stairway, so glad 
it is all over that he is half inclined, like blind Tom, to 
join the several rounds of applause himself. But 
the commencement work is too dignified an opera- 
tion for that. 

Next the President raises his hat an inch for the 


COMMENCEMENT. 


339 


band to play, and the “ Star Spangled Banner ” rings 
through the church and far out of doors, to the edi- 
fication of the poor “ oi polloi ,” who either have 
not black coats or fashion’s bonnets, or are crowded 
out by the inner throng. 

It would not be profitable to give an account of 
all the parts our special friends have performed. 
Twenty-cne graduates and two past-graduates speak 
dissertations, discussions, literary disquisitions, and 
English orations. Then last, before the patient, 
all-enduring audience is dismissed, is delivered the 
Valedictory Oration in Latin. The church is full 
and attentive, up to the last word. 

When the whole class of forty or fifty members 
form in lines around the platform, and the President 
makes to them his short address in Latin, confer- 
ring the degree of A. B. upon each, there is the 
greatest stillness, and an acme of interest. Each 
student is then given a roll of parchment, with 
college seal within and ribbon protruding. This is 
the diploma. Sky, Sam, and the rest rejoice at this 
Latin be-sealed and be-ribboned sign of the glorious 
epoch where college ends and active outside life 
begins. 

If one only could describe to the uninitiated a 
commencement dinner, but Donald cannot yet go, 
so that we will let the solemn procession follow the 
band to the old barren hall, which opens once a 
year. The dark serpentine column passes out of 
sight of undergraduates and all ladies, to the well- 


340 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


laden tables. The rousing noises that come out of 
the windows and through the very sides of the 
building prove that the belts and lacings of college 
dignity have been loosened, and that the annual 
jokes, old and new, have begun. As Donald and 
his friends are descending the gentle slope toward 
the Podham, the boisterous noise is hushed and there 
floats out in strong, deep, harmonious, manly voices 
the grand old hymn in “ Old Hundred,” which is 
never omitted. 

Donald waits on his mother. The rest, the Wood- 
wards, Snows, and Jaspers, go along the walks near 
them, as it happens, without formal locking of 
arms. Donald asks the question now propounded 
by hundreds of others : 

“Well, mother, how did you like the exercises?” 

“ It was all very good. Mr. Redmond didn’t 
have his piece quite well enough committed to 
memory.” 

Henry says, to the amusement of the party, “ Just 
wait till my class comes to graduate ; we’ll show you 
how to wear the gown ! ” 

“ Oh, Hal/’ says Donald, “You’re a Fresh. Fresh- 
men are not out of short dresses yet — cannot talk 
about gowns ! ” 

Hattie thinks short dresses are the prettiest, and 
appeals to the laughing Lil Jasper. 

Eva says, “Give tribute to whom tribute is due; 
*Sky’ Haskell for long gowns, and Gosper for 
short ones. Professor Dooly, who fitted their 


COMMENCEMENT. 


341 


dresses, made a great mistake. He reversed my 
rule ! ” 

“ Eva must fit you one, Mr. Donald/ says Hattie, 
‘‘before another year comes round.' 

Lil declares : “ That it will never do ; for Eva is 
already half inclined to wear the pants, and she 
should not be allowed to put a black gown on poor 
Mr. Donald. ’ 

The happy party reached the Snows' cottage be- 
fore the commencement banquet is half over, hav- 
ing made their bright'speeches in the open air, and 
before the wit has been choked and hindered by the 
more material repast. 

Our friends all have a good time. They attend 
the President's reception during one evening. They 
assemble to hear the address to the alumni of a 
most talented and distinguished graduate. They 
listen to society orations and poems, and some of 
the younger ones look in upon the commencement 
ball, “just to see the dresses , and to hear the music. ' 
But for Donald’s prejudices against dancing, which 
began at Weaverton, and Henry s belief that it was 
not consistent with his religion, some of the jollier 
of the party, like Hattie, and Lillie, and Mrs. Snow, 
and possibly Farmer Woodward, might have taken 
the floor. Donald’s father got as far as saying. 
“Young folks will be young folks! - ' and left the 
hall without thinking of putting upon them too 
stringent a regimen. 

Henry says : “ It is best to be willing to give up 


342 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


any worldly enjoyment that a good many Christians 
condemn, wine, or meat, or dancing.” 

“ Henry is right,” Mrs. Jasper and Mrs. Woodward 
both say, and so said the great Apostle of the 
Gentiles. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


SENIOR YEAR — HENRY S START — DONALD’S THRILL- 
ING SPEECH — COMMENCEMENT — LAW SCHOOL — 
SCEPTICISM — PROFESSORS’ ADVICE. 

H ENRY WOODWARD, rather more thorough 
than his brother, or perhaps less disposed to 
enter coolly into so many side-exercises, like society 
debates, society newspapers, and the general reading 
of books and journals, passed an excellent examina- 
tion and came upon the docket “ without anything 
to make up.” The round face, mild eyes, and 
pleasant smile which carry cheerful forbearance 
with them to soothe the nerves of literary cynics or 
weary professors, are Henry’s natural stock-in- 
trade. Now, he has added a heart full of the new 
joy, which being genuine makes anybody’s face sun- 
shiny. 

Of course, Henry, after the fall term begins, goes 
through the “ hold-ins,” the •* foot-balls,” and several 
other more newly-invented “ initiations.” One is 
where the Sophomores put the Freshmen through a 
formal examination, and make them speak pieces upon 

343 


344 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


elevated stools or benches. Henry did as they told 
him, with his eyes sparkling from the fun. He gave 
them on this occasion an extract from Milton, as 
the pillow-stuffed presiding Genius was approaching 
him to fix his position: 

“ Whence and what art thou, execrable shape, 
that darest, though grim and terrible, advance thy 
miscreated front athwart my way to yonder gates ? ” 
etc. 

All laugh and say, “ Good for the Freshie ! ” 

Henry, however, had the covering wing of his 
brother Donald, so that nothing harsh befell him, 
like the terrible “ smoke-out,” and the “ naked night 
bath ” of his brother at the college-pump. 

Professor “Ne plus” always frowzled his hair 
more, chalked his face, and jerked his coat-collar, 
and smiled when Henry gave a demonstration. 
Professor Dooly had harder work with him in dec- 
lamation, because of his propensity to laugh when 
the students laugh. But after a time our joyous 
Hal could (as he wrote his mother) “scowl and 
look cross as a meat-axe,” during an entire declama- 
tion. 

Donald enjoys this year. Henry keeps him from 
“college perquisites,” declaring, “One shouldn’t do 
such doubtful things as taking wood from the com- 
mon pile, even if he has the care of the reciting-room.” 
He gets impatient and angry much less frequently, for 
he has his brother as a constant check, and all the 
inner and strong effect of his sincere love for Eva. 


DONALD’S THRILLING SPEECH. 


345 


But Henry does not succeed (as he had hoped), 
like his old room-mate at Yarrot, in bringing a 
chum to make a public confession of his Chris- 
tian faith. 

The year rolls swiftly around when Donald Wood- 
ward takes his turn at the commencement, August, 
1 8 — . There are assembled the loving hearts to beat, 
the loving eyes to see, with minds on the qui vive to 
criticise or applaud when Donald mounts the platform 
of honor. But Donald Woodward is no common 
lad. Mature — pre mature, if you please — he rises 
with the occasion. “ Universal Freedom ” is his sub- 
ject. Few young orators could thrill an audience as he 
did then. Hushed into complete silence, aged men 
leaned forward with tears flowing; women stopped 
the motion of their fans ; young men’s eyes and 
cheeks betokened increased excitement ; only Eva 
— intent, critical, large-eyed Eva — showed paleness 
during this exercise of Donald’s magnetic power. 
These were his closing words, which not one-half of 
his audienee then agreed to: 

(< As sure, Mr. President, as the fact that the sun 
rose this morning and will set this evening; as sure 
as the fact that the moon and the stars are swinging 
in space and performing their appointed motions ; 
as sure as there is a power behind these motions — 
the power of the one Omnipotent Being who made 
all things, and who sustains all; s 6 sure is God’s 
work among the moral forces in men’s souls ! By 
His silent, mighty working, Slavery, the hideous 


346 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


monster, is doomed ! You and /, sir, will live to see 
the flag of Universal Freedom waving in our clear 
sky, from the Atlantic to the Pacific.” 

The applause that followed Donald was deafen- 
ing; even the proprieties of a commencement occa- 
sion were for a few minutes forgotten, as men ran 
to grasp his hand, when he descended from the 
platform amid the shower of wreaths and flowers 
from the galleries. The band struck up “America,” 
at the marshal’s request, and all joined in the in- 
spiring song. 

When the exercises are all over, and a little party 
is at Mr. Snow’s in Mason, Eva says, “You did do 
well, Donald, but you got too excited for poor me.” 
She then did what she had never done before in 
others’ presence. She deliberately crossed the room 
and gave him a kiss. 

“That’s better, Eva, than the applause,” says 
Donald. 

“ If you can ever get Eva Jasper’s unqualified ap- 
proval, you’ll have to do pretty well, I assure you,” 
says Mrs. Snow. 

Hattie says: “I can’t see the use of Eva’s ap- 
proval, anyhow; it is like getting one’s own I ” 

Eva blushes, while Mr. Snow says: “Not so fast, 
not so fast, daughter ; wait for the wedding ! u 

“Why, papa, aren’t these people just as much 
one now as they ever will be ? ” 

“Oh, no. It sometimes takes weeks, sometimes 
months, sometimes years, for two people to think 


LAW SCHOOL. 347 

and speak and act as one, as you see your mamma 
and me doing! ” 

“ The naughty man !” says Mrs. Snow. “ He will 
always be wilful, hard to manage. Never let go the 
reins, Eva. The theory is beautiful — oneness, indeed ; 
look out, child ! ” 

Donald made a short visit to Rhodes, and de- 
lighted himself with the sings, and frolics, and rides, 
and walks with Eva and her younger sisters ; also by 
his stay permitted Mr. and Mrs. Jasper to get better 
acquainted with him than ever before. Then he went 
home to Grenville and remained there for the most 
part during the next year. 

He read, according to his old habit, all the news- 
papers that he could get hold of ; took great interest 
in politics ; went out occasionally into adjoining 
towns and made political speeches; accepted invi- 
tations now and then to give “ temperance lectures 
and part of the time helped his father with the 
farm-work. When the time arrived for the fall law 
lectures he entered the law school at Younably 
(more than three hundred miles from Grenville), and 
boarded for the time with a relative and childhood 
friend, who lived five or six miles from the law school. 
This relative, Orville Darrow, was himself a young 
man, who had then a small family, was engaged in 
some kind of engineering business, and had access 
to the best society of Younably. 

Donald here had a grand opportunity for profes* 
sional study, and through his friend’s family was 


34 ^ 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


enabled to go into society as much as was consist- 
ent with the prosecution of his proper work. He 
is, however, in almost a new world; new acquaint- 
ances daily formed ; teachers of large experience to 
aid him, books in plenty, churches with open doors 
around him ; yet he feels lonely. He is far from 
father and mother ; Eva’s letters are very short, he 
thinks, and a poor substitute for an occasional visit ; 
his brother Henry’s sweet influence is missed. The 
churches here do not have the homelike atmos- 
phere ; even the ringing melody of Dr. Parker’s 
abundant voice would be welcome. 

Orville Darrow was just about where Donald was 
religiously. His beautiful wife, with her large, lus- 
trous eyes lighting up the home circle with her kind- 
ling smile, would bring the family Bible every morn- 
ing just before breakfast, and detain Orville from 
work and Donald from study long enough for Or- 
ville to read a chapter. The little one played about 
the floor for the mother and the grandmother to 
watch, while he read such choice words as these : “Ex- 
cept ye be converted, and become as little children, 
ye shall not enter the kingdom of Heaven," and “Suf- 
fer little children to come unto me, and forbid 
them not, for of such is the kingdom of Heaven.” 
These daily readings made their impressions upon 
both these young men ; yet scepticism, not exactly 
infidelity in the sense of a fixed opposition, but 
doubting everything quite back to the foundations, 
took possession of Donald. Here is a little exhibit, 


SCEPTICISM. 


349 


for example, of their way of treating matters. One 
day Donald asks, “ Orville Darrow, what makes you 
read the Bible in your family, if you don’t think it 
Divine ? ” 

“ Why, it has good precepts, pleases mother and 
wife, and can’t do any harm.” 

‘*1 think it, Orvilje, rather dangerous, like children 
meddling with razors. Its words are sharp, and 
may cut, if you handle them carelessly. Sometimes 
I think ‘ the Bible is all true , and Christianity is the 
best thing;' then I’m bothered by these ‘professors,’ 
who show what religion does. They are either 
sharp and knavish, or they are self-deceived. They 
appear, almost all of them that I have any thing to 
do with, to pull the wool over the people’s eyes 
or over their own.” 

“Well, Donald, I suppose there must be a good deal 
of superstition at the bottom of the Bible stories, 
so many of them appear to me to be incredible; but 
a belief in them seems to be harmless. Mother be- 
lieves in all these things, like restoring the sight, 
raising the dead, and that sort of thing. She also 
believes you must see the moon over the right 
shoulder, to have good luck; that a friend is coming 
if a tea-leaf or stick rises to the top- of your cup ; 
that if a magpie crosses your path twice, death is at 
the door. What’s the harm? the precepts of Christ 
in his Sermon on the Mount are wise; they bring 
good results.” 

“ I am not satisfied with such milk-and-water 


350 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


things. If this Book is from our Heavenly Father, 
we can’t compromise between God and Mammon , be- 
tween right and wrong, and say 4 Good Lord and 
Good Devil ! ’ but must come up to it like men ; de- 
fend it ; stand t?y its teachings, and make a square 
fight against what it condemns. But if it’s all a 
humbug ; I believe in throwing it overboard, and not 
waste important time with its enigmas. Now, 
brother Henry says he s \ got religion.’ He goes the 
whole figure, reads the old Book every day; smooths 
down his laughing face to a deacon’s solemn visage, 
and prays to God to help him keep its precepts. To 
me everything is in a jumble. I’ve no faith in men, 
in the Bible, in God. Everything around me seems 
tumbled together at haphazard. When I get hold 
of a thing I think is solid, it floats off like a log in 
a freshet. The Bible says : ‘ God is love,’ yet there’s 
old Skinflint rich as Croesus, and Polly Good with five 
babies without a bed to sleep on, and she don’t 
know where the next meal is to come from ! ‘ God 
is love : ’ yet he lets good folks starve, freeze, or be 
drowned, and Lawyer Oilyman lives in luxuriant 
ease and. comfort while he goes on to break every 
moral precept, without honor, without chastity, 
without care.” 

“Well, Donald, you are college-trained, and are 
too deep for me. I take things more as I find them ; 
enjoy my pleasant family while I can, and don’t 
bother myself about laws that I had no hand in 
making.” 


PROFESSOR'S ADVICE. 


351 


Professor Hiram Lockhart was the Dean of the 
Law Faculty at Donald’s school. He guessed at 
the young man’s restlessness of mind and heart, 
from his countenance (a young man is easily read 
by men of experience who have habits of close ob- 
servatiori), from some words that he dropped while 
talking in the class while the ethics of his profession 
were under discussion, and from the quick and 
nervous manner of Donald’s walk as he came in and 
went out before him. The Dean took occasion 
when a favorable opportunity offered to ask the 
young man to his study. When they were seated, Pro- 
fessor Lockhart said: “Woodward, you do not seem 
to be settled in your habits of thought. There is rest- 
lessness, discontent, in your look and manner. Can- 
not I as a friend be of service to you?” Donald’s 
pride sprang up like a cloud to shut out the sun- 
light that might have come in from this large, true, 
philosophic heart : 

“No, Professor. I have good friends, those that 
I love and who care for me. I am, of course, un- 
easy about the future, and in haste to be about my 
life-business. I guess haste to get through the 
books and ambition to excel are about all that ails 
me. ’ 

The Dean rose and said, good-naturedly : “The 
safest thing for any young man is to obey the pre- 
cepts of Holy Writ; do not your best friends say 
so?” 

“Yes; my mother has a superstitious regard for 


352 


DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 


her Bible, and always says something about it in her 
letters.” 

“ She is right ; the mother’s sharpened instincts 
touch the unadulterated truth oftener than great intel- 
lects that are groping for it in fogs of their own 
creation.” 

This strong endorsement of a man who stood at 
the head of his profession had weight with Donald ; 
yet he imputed all the Dean’s calm steadfastness, 
hot to his religion, but to the power of his intellect. 
How hard it is to learn that “out of the heart are 
the issues of life.” When the heart is wrong, all is 
wrong. 

Eva Jasper, in her keen, critical way, now and then 
showed Donald that she feared that he was like a 
vessel with the cable cut, without rudder, and drifting 
out with an uncertain tide; yet love is always more 
or less blind to faults, or if not, it hates to mention 
them to a passionate, high-strung nature. Moreover, 
Eva is a Christian herself only in that general sense, 
where one has never taken pains to inquire, always 
has taken it for granted that what the minister says 
is right, and that mother’s faith has no flaw in it. 

She writes: “Why, Donald, what would mamma 
think and say if she knew that you doubted the Bible ? 
no need of throwing away your compass. I wish, dear, 
that I was better myself, that I could write about 
good things, and talk about them when you return 
home ! I should as soon doubt that the sun shines 
as to doubt the truth of the Bible.” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


THE TUTORSHIP AND LAW OFFICE — A DISCONTENTED 
HEART — CORRESPONDENCE WITH EVA — THE VISIT 
TO RHODES — EVA'S ACCOUNT OF HER CONVER- 
SION — HIS VISIT HOME — DONALD’S CONVERSION 
— HIS EVIDENT “ CALL ” TO THE MINISTRY — THE 
THEOLOGICAL SCHOOL — THE MARRIAGE, AND 
HOME. 

D ONALD’S terms of law at Younably are at last 
over, and he bids farewell to his excellent 
friends the Darrows, and goes to the small village 

of M , situated on the Knonalb river, not more 

than twenty-five miles east of Grenville. Here he 
has an opening of a tutorship in a private family, by 
which he can make his living and still prosecute his 
studies in a law office of the town. Interesting as 
it might be to speak of Donald’s connection here 
with the wealthy family and pleasant children, and 
also with the young lawyer who was kind enough 
to let him have the use of his law-library, yet, as 
Donald s heart and mind are like the troubled sea, 
and as he can hardly keep his attention to what 

353 


354 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


he had judged was his plain duty, but is filled 
with an uncontrollable longing for something which 
he has not, we will the rather follow him now in the 
workings of his interior life than in the outward cir- 
cumstances. 

He does hear the lessons of the restless children. 
He does read over and over again the writings of 
Kent. He goes a httle into society; attends reg- 
ularly once on Sunday upon the ministrations of the 
“ Orthodox Sanctuary yet in something else he 
is absorbed. A few words to Eva will best explain 
the condition of his mind just now : 

“ M , March — , 18 — . 

“ DEAREST Eva, — I am in such a perturbed state 
of mind that my study seems to amount to nothing. 
My heart is not in my work. The children occasion- 
ally make me fretful and angry; what I read makes 
no more impression than the pouring of water on 
the rocks. What absorbs me is destiny , my destiny . 
God in his great overshadowing, all-absorbing mys- 
teries is ever present in blackness and darkness : the 
Bible I keep reading and reading, and cannot get at 
it ; cannot take it in ; yet I cannot let it alone. I 
have everything to make one happy ; yet I am not. 
I love you and trust you with all the heart I have; 
yet I walk up and down my room and think and 
think, when I ought to sleep. I try my head at 
impossible problems, and half fear that I am, as 
mother says, 4 going distracted’ ; you may say it is 
* the blues’. No, ‘the blues’ don’t last so long; I 


CORRESPONDENCE WITH EVA. 355 

think there are problems in religion that I must 
settle and settle them now , or I shall never rest again. 
Do, pray, advise me, Eva dear, as your head and 
heart are clear,” etc., etc. 

“ Lovingly, 

“ Donald.” 

It was not long afterward when he received the 
following : 

“Rhodes, April — -, 18 — . 

“ Dearest Donald, — I have something to tell 
you, something that I think will meet all your wants. 
I would write about it, my heart is so full ; but I 
would rather talk, and I think I can tell it better at 
home than put the story on paper. So do come, if 
you can, post-haste to Rhodes. Mamma and papa 
join in the invitation. Your own Eva.” 

It wasn’t long before Donald’s valise was packed. 
The railway was now built, and in a few hours — long 
enough, however, to his impatience — he is walking 
up the pathway to Mr. Jasper’s door. The grass 
just begins to spring, fresh and green, but Donald 
does not notice it ; the little robins are chirping in 
the branches of the trees, but Donald does not heed 
them now. With his hat pulled down over his 
handsome forehead, pale for him and unhappy in his 
looks, he pulls the bell, unconsciously rather hard. 
Eva had caught a glimpse of him as he opened the 
yard-gate from her window. The bell has hardly 
begun to ring before she swings open the door, and 


356 DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 

with a face radiant with joy and love, throws herself 
for a moment into his arms, and then remembering 
that they are out of doors, and that there are neigh- 
bors to look through blinds, she leads him in. 

“ The children are at school and mother is out; 
papa has gone to Mason. Come to the sitting- 
room. We have the house to ourselves for awhile, 
and I am glad of it ! ” 

“ So am I,” says Donald, smiling. He never saw 
Eva so joyous before, and he is full of wonderment, 
but thinks that he will let her take her own time 
and way of telling him. 

“ Now, Donald, I’m going to tell you something 
good. I am a new woman ! This is the way it all 
happened ; we have been having some real good 
lectures from Dr. Kish at our church vestry lately, 
and in some of the meetings there were quite a num- 
ber of conversions. I did not believe there was any 
need of so much fuss, and I talked against having so 
many meetings, and one night I staid away. That 
night I felt conscience-smitten and couldn’t rest. I 
thought I would write to you, and got up and started 
up-stairs for the writing materials, when just then 
Lil came following me to my room with the last 
letter you wrote. I read it over two or three times, 
and then I thought : “ Oh, if I only could settle those 
problems in religion. I could help his poor, longing, 
restless heart! After awhile I went across the room 
for my Bible; I was alone and opened it. It opened 
to where the Lord’s Prayer is (the sixth of Mat- 


EVA S CONVERSION. 


357 


thew). I read that over slowly • then I glanced 
along till my eyes fell upon the thirty-third verse, 
‘But seek ye first the kingdom of God.’ I didn’t 
read any further, but I knelt down and asked 
God to hear me and direct mew While I was pray- 
ing, a sweet change came into my spirit. Oh, what 
great peace ! what joy * I cannot tell it to you, 
Donald, so that you will understand it You don’t 
know how bright everything has since been. I love 
you all more than ever , I love the Church and the 
people ; I love to hear the birds sing, and nothing 
seems so good and true as the Bible. You know 
how timid I am to say anything before people in a 
crowd ; I am still. But the next day I went and 
found good Dr Kish at his house, and with tremb- 
ling tried to tell him what I have told you, and to 
ask him what I ought to do. Wasn't he glad that 
I had become a Christian! He said, ‘Thank the 
Lord who is good ! ’ ‘ Thank the Lord who doeth all 
things well ! * He told me I must prepare myself 
to unite with the Church, and that I must not wait 
for anybody. Now, Donald, I’m not going to let 
you speak till I’ve said my say : you must come 
with me and enter into this great joy. It is for you, 
and just what your poo/ heart needs. Seek Him, the 
Lord, the Saviour, with all your heart.” 

Donald had been told this many times before, but 
not by Eva’s lips. He kissed her forehead and said, 
“ I will try with all my heart, Eva. Pray for me.” 
Their talk was interrupted by the return of Mrs. Jas- 


358 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


per. She welcomed Donald warmly, said she was 
glad he had come now, for they were having some 
good meetings, which she thought he would like ; 
they were so calm and sensible-like. 

Donald had often objected to excitement in re- 
ligion (strange, wasn’t it ? when he couldn’t go into 
anything else without the warmest sort of excite- 
ment). An unbelieving man will always manage to 
raise some kind of objection to what ’his heart is 
plainly against. 

The lectures only made Donald worse, and Eva’s 
brightness and joy only seemed unaccountably to 
give him pain. He felt as though he again had 
a rival in her affections. There was something that 
she preferred to him . He soon took his leave and 
went where children always like to go when their 
hearts ache, that is, to his mother. 

“ Why, Donald, what is the matter? Are you sick? 
Has Eva got married and moved off? What ails 
you?” are her questions in rapid succession aft£r 
his arrival. 

“ Oh, no, mother ; I am troubled in mind, in con- 
science, full of discontent, and know I must settle 
these heart-matters, before I shall be fit for any- 
thing. Henry is calm as the moonlight, you take 
things easily and are mostly happy; Eva has now 
got full of her new religion, and poor me ! I am out 
in the cold, in a thick mist that I can’t see 
through.” 

She soothed him ; told him this was an impor- 


HIS VISIT HOME. 


359 


tant crisis in his life: “God’s Holy Spirit is striving 
with you. A colt rears and pitches and flounders 
about, sometimes, when your father begins to break 
him : but in a day or two he gives up, and is as 
calm as a May morning. All you’ve got to do, is 
to surrender yourself to the reins of your Heavenly 
Master.” Ten days later Donald' writes to his 
brother Henry. An extract from his letter explains 
itself : 

“ Eva writes me every other day. She was to be 
examined as a candidate for admission into the 
Church, Thursday evening last. I have not heard 
this week yet, but I presume she was admitted Sun- 
day. At first it was a little hard for me to think of 
it. It seemed like separation, but I said, i Go on, 
and never mind me.’ God keep me from standing 
across anybody’s path of duty. Her God will al- 
ways have to be her chief dependence. I am a 
poor, weak, miserable creature, who am unable of my 
own strength to walk alone. Where could I better 
commit her whom I love best on earth, than into 
the arms of her Saviour?” 

The next day after this letter the “crisis” had 
passed. His mother noticed with a full and thank- 
ful heart, amid tears of joy, that a new boy came 
into the breakfast-room. “It is all right, mother. I ' 
can now understand you all. How blind I was! 
How easy now it all seems! ” 

“ Oh, I am very thankful, my son ; I have never 
doubted , I have firmly believed the promises of a 


360 DONALD'S SCHOOL DAYS. 

* Covenant-keeping God’. My sons were to be 
Christians. I have rested in the promises.” 

We can best give hints concerning this inner life, 
which is almost too sacred to attempt to reveal, 
by the spirit of a letter written a few days later 
by Donald to his old friend Orville Darrow, at 
Younably. 

“Grenville, April — , 18 — . 

“ My Dear Darrow, — For a number of days the 
desire to write you has been very strong within me, 
but it has not seemed convenient till now. This 
letter will much of it be about myself. I feel in my 
heart, my dear Orville, that I love my Saviour. 
He wouldn’t give me up, though I was sunk in such 
a depth of sin and pollution, but continued calling 
after me. I will not use words of general meaning, 
. that may be interpreted in various ways, but I will 
tell you a few simple things : I am happier than 
ever before in my life ; I love to read the Bible ; I 
love to pray; I feel kindly and more charitably 
towards all men. Christians seem like brothers. 
The words of Christ, Paul, James, and Peter all ap- 
ply to me. When I ask myself on going to bed : 
4 If you should die, where would you be found?’ 
I can find no fear in my heart. Jesus is in my 
thoughts most of the time. My heart is full of in- 
voluntary prayer. God may do with me as may 
best glorify Him. * Sweet peace thy promises 
afford ! ’ My heart overflows with gratitude to 
Christ. Verily, He is the way, the truth, and the 


DONALD’S CONVERSION. 


361 


life. Oh, my cup runneth over. If I could see you, 
I know I could tell you how simple and sweet all 
this is, and just how to find this ‘ peace in believing, 
and joy in the Holy Ghost.’ Stop right short off 
where you are. Don’t try to feel , or say , or do another 
good thing. Bring all your wickedness to the feet of 
the Saviour. Say to him : ‘ Here I give it up. Save 
me, or I am lost ! ’ Don’t wait for feeling. Don’t 
wait for conviction of sin. Don’t wait for a single 
emotion or thought that you have thought neces- 
sary. Nothing is necessary but simple trust. ‘ O 
God, I know thou canst. O Father, thou hast prom- 
ised. Thy power is infinite and Thy mercy, too.’ 
Jesus is ready and willing. Remember the thief on 
the cross. Christ is not less compassionate than 
while He lived on the earth. 

“If you want religion, Orville, you can have it. 
If you don’t, God have mercy upon you. I can only 
pray. 

“ Oh, you, like me, have so often been ‘almost per- 
suaded to be a Christian!’ Forgive me if I seem 
too zealous ; but how I do long to see you truly 
‘ happy. ’ It isn’t like any other happiness. It is rather 
a constant peace and contentment. It is the first 
thing in the morning and the last at night. It arises 
involuntarily in the mind during the ordinary busi- 
ness of the day. It is like some sweet memory or 
some joyful anticipation, but it is better than 
either. 

“ You would like to have me tell you the whole pro- 


362 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


cess? how I was translated from nature’s darkness 
into this marvellous light ? There was nothing great, 
nothing powerful. I had for some time been diligent 
in my prayer, but I was as wicked as at any time in 
my life. There was the same pride, vanity, self-con- 
ceit, double-mindedness, and lust. And the first 
thought was: ‘Hadn’t I better hope?’ 'No / re- 
plied consciousness, ‘ you are too bad — you have no 
right to.’ But Jesus has promised. He is worthy; 
ought I not to have faith , never doubting that ‘ He is , 
and that He is a rewarder of them that diligently 
seek Him?’ Then, it came in little by little, until, 
if I am not changed , everything else in existence is. 
The same sins tempt me now ; but Christ is my helper. 
‘ Has not He (God) laid help on one who is mighty 
and able to save?’ Oh, my dear Orville, come to 
Jesus, and taste and see if He isn’t good ! Look not 
to any Christian you ever knew ; look to Christ only. 
His virtues, His life, His sufferings and endurance, 
His doctrines and death — all are perfect. Read: 
what He says : pray before, and after* and while you 
read, for help from above to understand and apply 
the truth. Hear Him say: ‘Come and learn of 
me.’ Oh, His yoke is easy and Hi's burden is light. 
It is sin and temptation that are heavy even to the 
redeemed soul. If you hold on to one single reason 
why you shouldnt be a Christian, you wont be. 

“ May God forgive me that I was a hinderance in 
your way while we were at Younably. I knew* it all 
the time, but Satan and my own proud, wicked heart 


THE THEOLOGICAL SCHOOL. 


363 


kept me so. Oh, the world seems joyous, and eternity 
beautiful ; the only bad thing is sin . I have prayed 
with Henry, with mother, and with Eva, and with 
old Mrs. Renut (the tears of joy came into her eyes). 
Oh, the brotherhood and sisterhood of Christians! 

“ Yours affectionately, 

“ Donald.’’ 

Donald did not try to pursue further the study of 
law. His heart and mind were so thoroughly occu- 
pied with this heavenly condition of his being, and 
he so much longed to get all his old companions 
and friends out of their apathy, darkness, or sharper 
discontent, that before he was aware of it he was 
bending all his energies in that direction. He soon 
concluded that God called him to lay alt his talents 
on His altar, and work directly and wholly in His 
spiritual vineyard. 

Eva thought so, too. They two were the comple- 
ments of each other. He is ardent, energetic, elo- 
quent — she is critical, quick of insight, but retiring. 
The outward is his, but she is to be behind the 
scenes in remedy for the past and in preparation for 
the future. 

Donald goes to a theological seminary. There is 
something in our theological seminaries that needs 
correction. By their fruits ye shall know them. 

The seminary at S is no exception to the rule. 

The mistake in men’s minds seems to be this, 
that somehow intellectual development , and not soul 


364 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


development , is the main thing. At the seminary 
they often tie up the affections of a man, much as 
an arm in a sling, and they thus get weak and 
shrinky. Nobody knows just how it is done there. 
But the theological student becomes sharp in casuis- 
try, keen in exegesis, faultless in style and delivery, 
entertains and interests his people, but God picks 
up a rough-handed blacksmith, and through him 
often converts more souls. He takes an ignorant 
sailor, who can hardly read, and sets him to leading 
the way into his Kingdom. He lifts up a thick- 
shouldered youth from poverty and ignorance, and 
through him teaches theologians, and multitudes 
plainer paths than they themselves have trod.' The 
seminary at S was a good one. Donald de- 

lighted in all the study they gave him ; stood the 
three years of repression and discipline like a hero, 
and then came forth to his Master’s work. He 
was, however, robbed there somewhat of that law- 
yer-like manner of pleading that he had, of that 
that would have carried audiences and juries with 
him : and deep, strong formalism necessarily took 
possession somewhat of his address. His natural 
powers of criticism were quickened, so that at 
times he became almost morbid in his judgment of 
other men; his soul magnified the groans and 
difficulties of men, and his spirit dwelt in the con- 
templation of “the sinfulness of sin” till often the 
vastness of the upper air, radiant with songsters and 
full of the glorious sunlight, was lost to him. We 


THE MARRIAGE, AND HOME. 365 

have long ntourned over this seminary effect, if it 
came from that. 

Discipline of the powers of a man is grand, when it 
is not carried too far. If carried too far, the man is 
unfitted to lead or command. Donald was not de- 
stroyed, yet, after the moulding the beauty and 
freshness of God’s life in him never seemed to come 
quite up to its earlest promise ; whereas, it should 
have grown with his life-work, ever greener, ever 
fresher, ever more abundant in fruitage. 

After graduating, he goes to his first temporary 
field of labor. The good tidings he eloquently pro- 
claims. Sinners flock to hear him ; many heed his 
admonitions and turn from sin to righteousness, 
and he is gladdened by a fair harvest. God bless 
the young man for his hard, hard work in this coun- 
try field! He goes from house to house. He talks 
with every man, woman, and child. Great anxiety 
takes possession of his mind, because the people are 
so reluctant to yield a temporary and transient 
pleasure for the bliss of eternal joy. It is now that 
he needs not only the counsel, by fresh, hopeful, 
happy, loving letters from Eva, but her constant 
presence, to soothe nerves overwrought, to soften 
criticisms bluntly given, and give the quick-witted 
foresight of a woman’s instinctive wisdom. 

So, the time is set for the wedding-day. How 
foolishly and thoughtlessly that day is often fixed, 
made to turn on the making of a dress (yet a dress 
may be the veriest exponent of character), made to 


3 66 


DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 


turn on some one of a thousand whims (yet a whim 
is usually a tell-tale straw). Not so now. Don- 
ald and Eva have weathered opposition of parents, 
hinderance of rivals, dangers of much letter-writing, 
fears of poverty, fears of diminishing abilities and 
fancied mutual unfitnesses, troubles of college 
scrapes, law-school ambitions, and seminary trim- 
mings and procrastinations. They have gotten as- 
similated, or adjusted, or fitted, or smoothed, or some- 
how thoroughly prepared — much of it the effect of 
the permeating cement of grace in the soul ; the 
old, natural, common, ardent, youthful love moulded, 
softened, deepened, and set by the all-love} as costly 
perfumes of great richness are made better for our 
uses in the clear air of ample room. So the day is 
set — the essential preparations are made. The 
home of Eva is full of temporal joy that day — Mr. 
Jasper’s tears fill his happy eyes every now and 
then. He does not explain, except in the tender 
tone of voice when he says “ Eva ' 1 or in the search- 
ing look that now and then seeks Donald’s face. 
Mrs. Jasper puts all her feeling into the preparations, 
or better, into the doings that belong to the occasion. 
This is an anxious day for a mother; it is an epoch; 
always was; as when Jesus’ mother discovered and 
reported to Him the likelihood of a failure at Cana. 
Mrs. Jasper is cumbered with much serving this 
time, but if she hadn’t been, she would have had 
too much feeling; for hadn’t she leaned on this 
eldest daughter as the very staff of her life ? She 


THE MARRIAGE, AND HOME. 367 

had never been from her but a few weeks at a time, 
and now immediately she was to depart, never to 
return as Eva Jasper again. “The thought would 
come all over me,” she said — this in spite of constant 
active service. For Lil and Jessie and Homer it 
was all good fun. This wedding-day is a looking- 
glass to the girls, where they see an image of their 
own — the little boy does not get much beyond the 
goodies of the occasion. 

Orville and his beautiful wife are there to get ac- 
quainted with all sides of the new family. Donald’s 
father smacks his lips, as if he had found a glass of 
new sweet cider extra good, and says, “ When I was 
a boy, I did so. Donald has good sense. It's always 
the way with young folks/ 

Donald’s mother is happy. She is always uncer- 
tain as to what may happen to a son, till he is well 
married. She lives in the country, has learned just 
how to get on with commencement fashions; but 
here is a new thing under the sun — a city wedding. 
Eva turns her “mother so soon to be” over to Lil, 
who takes joyous pride and pleasure in showing her 
skill at braids, and collars, and ribbons, etc., etc. 
Henry is now a graduate. We will, in another 
book, turn back and pick up his life-tale, more event- 
ful than that of his brother. He is here, with his 
old glad smile • not a wrinkle nor a scowl on his 
round face. Hattie Snow loves to tease him ; she 
loves to sing, too, when he plays off-hand at the cab- 
inet organ. They are here, she and her bright- 


368 DONALD’S SCHOOL DAYS. 

spirited mother, who now boldly claims that she is 
the foster parent and saviour of this match. Even 
the sombre business-man, Hattie’s father, who sel- 
dom bends or laughs, except as occasioned by Hat- 
ties’s manceuvrings, he is here. To make the party 
complete, Rev. Dr. Kish — tall, pleasant man, slightly 
bent, as if not to be too proud — he is on hand, as es- 
sential and more than welcome; for are not these 
two of his spiritual children — two to be made essen- 
tially one? The small assembly is complete; the 
ceremony is performed ; and Orville Darrow and his 
wife take the happy couple away by the first depart- 
ing train to their own home, situated as it was in 
the most attractive region of all our land, where 
lovers may tryst in flowery pathways, or married 
ones may behold hills and valleys, and mountains 
and rivers, and open their vision more and more 
upon the roughness and smoothness of the earthT 
catching perhaps, as in a vision, amid beauty and 
joy, slight glimpses of the unevenness, pleasant 
and unpleasant, of coming years. 

A few months more find Donald and Eva in a 
beautiful New England village. The house has been 
Rented, and their furniture — very plain, and *as yet 
meagre in amount, in spite of the generous gifts of 
two households — is being placed or adjusted to the 
situation. Over across the street is the old church, 
with its spire always telling passers-by in its silent 
pointing: “Yonder is the Heavenly Land.” How 
clean the streets ; how white the houses and the 


THE MARRIAGE, AND HOME. 369 

fences ; how green the shade-trees ; how sweet and 
abundant the flowers. Donald has been ordained 
and installed as pastor of this village people. Rev- 
erence, respect, love, trust, mingled with gossiping 
criticism, cluster within the walls of the old church, 
and look up to the youthful face in the pulpit. 
Eva’s bright eyes and tingling cheeks among the 
hearers cheer his heart with the human sympathy 
Donald always needs. Hardened faces, the upper 
out-croppings of ledges of callous selfishness, are 
there before him, too. He has the world, the village 
world, the great world in miniature — the majority in 
sin and darkness, the minority dimly seeing, as in a 
glass darkly, their own spirit-being. Here Donald, 
with his passions subdued, his intellect well trained, 
his love, strong, with his sweet, true, indefatigable 
Eva, begins the real life-work — the work that men 
think common, but a work that God magnifies, and 
Eternity remembers. Here for the present we will 
leave him. 


THE END. 


. 


. , • . . . 







• • 

. 


























FROM HAND TO MOUTH, 

BY 

MISS A. M. DOUGLAS, 

AUTHOR OF 

In Trust, Stephen Dane, Nelly Kinnard’s Kingdom, 
Claudia, Sydnie Adriance, Home Nook, 
Kathie Stories, etc. 

12 mo. Cloth.. $1.50. 


" This volume, like all the works of this author, is well written and 
intensely interesting, though there is nothing sensational or strained in 
the plot, scenes, or characters. It is a story of homely, every-day life, 
just such as any of us may have seen; and herein lies without doubt 
no little of the charm with which the gifted author has invested her 
story. It is a book that will be popular, and will survive the passing 
hour. — Bridgeport Farmer. 


“ Another of Miss Douglas’s pure and sensible stories, fully equal 
to ‘ Nelly Kinnard’s Kingdom,’ to say which is no slight praise. We 
know of no American author who excels Miss Douglas in her partic- 
ular line, — stories of every-day American home-life. We are glad to 
learn that the sale of her books is steadily on the increase. This fact 
shows that she is appreciated, and speaks well for the taste of our 
story-reading public. — Christian Leader. 


“The charm of the story is the perfectly natural and homelike air 
which pervades it. The young ladies are not stilted and shown off in 
their ‘ company manners,’ but are just jolly home-girls, such as we like 
to find, and can find any day. There is real satisfaction in reading this 
book, from the fact that we can so readily ‘take it home’ to our- 
selves. — Portland Argus. ^ 


“ Amanda Douglas is one of the favorite authors among American 
novel-readers. She writes in a free, fresh, and natural way, and her 
characters are never (Overdrawn.” — Manchester Mirror. 


SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS AND NEWS-DEALERS. 

LEE & SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS, 

BOSTOIT. 


THE 


FALL OF DAMASCUS. 

AN HISTORICAL NOVEL. 

BY CHARLES WELLS RUSSELL. 

i2mo. Cloth. $1.50. 


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the time, during the reign of Heraclius ; the personages, Roman, Greek, 
Syrian, and Saracen ; the mingling of solid fact and exuberant fancy, — all go 
to make up a romance as different as one can easily imagine from the conven- 
tional and familiar modern novel. The opening chapter introduces us at once 
to the very presence of the persons of the author’s creation, who assume a 
reality to the mind rarely possessed by the children of the brain, and to scenes 
so vividly depicted, that one feels as if walking with the hero along the marble 
pavements and among the rose-bowers of the Eastern paradise. The descrip- 
tion is rich, sensuous, Oriental. Characters are drawn with sharp, clear indi- 
viduality, and the interest awakened in them is sure to be retained. Indeed, 
* The Fall of Damascus ’ is 

A BOOK HARD TO PUT DOWN, ONCE TAKEN UP, 

till the covers close on its last page. The style is clear, pure, and direct, the 
uSe of language unexceptionable, and the dramatic spirit more than ordinarily 
marked.” — Boston Post . 

THIS IS A STORY OF RARE BEAUTY. 

“It has received the highest praise from literary reviewers, and will evidently 
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read that is elevated above the trashy novel of the day should invest.” — 
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LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers - - - Boston, 


Voyage of the Paper Canoe; 

A Geographical Journey of 2,500 Miles, from Quebec 
to the Gulf of Mexico, 

By NATHANIEL H. BISHOP, 

A uthor of lt A T housand M lies’ Walk across South A merica.” Embellished with 
spirited illustrations, and ten maps of the route . 

8vo. Cloth, #2.50. 


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the province of the reviewer quite lost in the pleasure of perusal. Geo- 
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‘ crackers * and negroes, and glimpses of Southern life and character 
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lend it life and piquancy. The story of fictitious travels and adventures 
could hardly be more exciting, or hold the reader’s attention mortf 
closely, while the knowledge that the whole narrative is the transcript 
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beginning to end. These have been made for the author by the United 
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engraved with exquisite delicacy.” — Boston Journal. 


“ The perils encountered by the author are related with a charming 
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many interesting facts ; the geographical, the only complete account of 
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items of interest ; the student of character, new and peculiar types ; the 
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Gulf of Mexico.” — Sunday Herald. 


Sold by all Booksellers and Newsdealers, and sent by mail, post- 
paid, on receipt of price. 

LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. 


1 


THERE SHE BLOWS 

OR, THE LOG OF THE ARETliuSA. 

By Capt. W. H. Macy of Nantucket. i6mo. Cloth. 
Illustrated. $1.50. 


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and expressive language, somewhat as an intelligent old sailor talks. 
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whales and South Sea Island savages, and numerous other things, are 
well told. There is nothing tedious about it. Like most sea-captains 
of his character, he knows how to spin an agreeable ‘ yarn,’ and to give 
and take a joke.” — N. O. Picayune. 

“ * There She Blows,’ is a rattling, lively, rollicking tale of the * deep 
blue sea,’ and the wonderful adventures that befall those who skim the 
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nected with the whale-fishery, are told in a manner to please the young- 
sters, whilst they impart useful information.” — Ch. Index , Atlanta , Ga. 

“ The book is a narrative of thrilling adventures and hair-breadth 
escapes, and gives one a very full description and knowledge of the 
capture of whales, and, in fact, the whole process in the production of 
whale-oil, from the first sight of the whale until the oil is stowed away 
in the ship. The volume also sketches the life and experiences aboard 
the ship, and is exciting enough to satisfy the veriest boy.” — Contribu- 
tor, Boston. 


ADRIFT IN THE ICE-FIELDS. 

By Capt. C. W. HALL, author of “The Great Bonanza.” 

X2mo. Illustrated. $1.50. 


“The author, Capt. Charles W. Hall, has done his work well. The 
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while shooting sea-fowl on the sea-ice by day, and the stories by which 
they whiled away their long evenings, or their share in the social life 
of their neighbors. Later it describes the breaking-up of the ice, by 
which the hunters were forced into involuntary wandering, and recounts 
their perilous adventures, the hardships to which they were reduced, 
their final rescue by a sealing-steamer, and the curious life on board 
such a vessel. Incident to the work is an accurate description of the 
ice-fields of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and some picturesque studies of 
life among people of whom the most of us know very little. It is very 
graphically illustrated.’ ' Demons? s Monthly . 


YOUNG 


FOLKS’ 


History of the United States. 

BY 

/ 

THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON. 

Square i6mo. 380 pp. With over 100 Illustrations. Price $1.50. 


“ Compact, clear, and accurate. . . . This unpretending little book is the best gen- 
eral history of the United States we have seen.” — The Nation. 

“ The book is so written, that every child old enough to read history at all will under- 
stand and like it, and persons of the fullest information and purest taste will admire it." 
— Boston Daily Advertiser. 

“ It is marvellous to note how happily Mr. Higginson, in securing an amazing com- 
pactness by his condensation, has avoided alike superficiality and dulness.” — Boston 
T ranscript. 

AS A TEXT-BOOK IN SCHOOLS. 


One of the most successful teachers in Boston says, “ I am confident that the text 
book has proved itself as reliable and comprehensive as it certainly is suggestive and 
entertaining. I know no book more helpful in promoting that crystallizing process 
in the student’s own mind by which the accessories and details group- themselves 
around the main facts and ideas of the narration. On this account it is equally valua- 
ble to teachers and scholars, to the examined and the examiners.” 

This work has been translated into German, and has been received with marked 
favor. The Leipsic literary correspondent of the “ New-York Staats-Zeitung,” says, 
that, in its German version, it is pronounced exceedingly interesting ( hochst anzie- 
hende ) ; and predicts that it will inspire universal delight ( allgemeine Beliebtheit ) in 
German readers. 

The Berlin “ International Gazette” says, “ Mr. Higginson has executed his task 
in a very clear and lucid manner, not making use of any hard aphorisms, so puzzling 
to the young, but placing himself on their level, and explaining every thing in so easy 
ind gentle a manner, that he must be a very dull or a very perverse scholar, who doe» 
bot find his attention riveted.” 


* m * Sold by all Booksellers, and sent by mail on receipt 0/ price. 

LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, - - - Boston. 


BY THE AUTHOR OF THE YOUNG FOLKS' HISTORY OP 
THE UNITED STATES. 



Book of American Explorers, 


BY THOMAS WENTWORTH HICCINSON. 


Uniform with the Young Folks’ History of the United States. 


One vol. Fully illustrated. Price $1.50. 


“AS A TEXT BOOK FOR SCHOOLS, 


This book fills one of the greatest needs of our schools, — a need which has long 
been felt, but which exists no longer. It is not a history told in the third person; nor 
an historical novel for young folks, where the author supposes the chief characters to 
have thought and said such and such things under such and such circumstances: but 
it is the genuine description given by the persons who experienced the things they de- 
scribed in letters written home.” — Montpelier Journal. 


Testimony of the Principal of one of the Leading Schools 
for Girls, at Portland, Me. 

The Young Folks’ Book of American Explorers is used in my school as a 
reader by a class of fourteen girls from twelve to sixteen years of age. They had 
some acquaintance with American history; and I hoped this volume, while adding to 
their knowledge, would awaken a new interest in the subject. The result has not dis- 
appointed me. The very words of the brave men who opened the way to homes in the 
New World make the dry bones of history instinct with life. 

At one time each member of the class took the book as the subject of a composition, 
dwelling longest on the parts which seemed to her, most interesting. Once a week its 
pages furnish words for a written exercise in spelling. 

Incidentally the reading increases acquaintance with geography, as the map is con- 
stantly consulted. 

The faces of the girls as they read are sufficient evidence of their interest; and I 
can cordially recommend the book to other teachers who may wish to break in upon 
the routine of readers. 


EUNICE D. SEWALL. 


Jan. 6, 1878. 


LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. 

Copies furnished for examination with a view to introduction, for $1. 






















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